Memories of Royston

A Collection of Memories and Reminiscences

MEMORIES of

ROYSTON Published by the

and

Royston and Carlton Community Partnership Registered Office, The Grove, Royston, Barnsley, South Yorkshire S71 4EP Tel: 01226 700 070 Fax 01226 709 581

Š To the individual authors First published in 2003 Reprinted 2009

This is the second book from the WEA Royston History Group.

The group was established by the Royston and Carlton Community Partnership and the Workers’ Educational Association in 1999.

This book is a collection of memories and reminiscences based on life in Royston and neighbouring villages during the early part of the 20th Century and gives an insight into the development of the village and the everyday lives of the people there.

Memories of Royston

Memories of the National School in the 1920s E L (Les) Edmonds Mrs. Owen Mrs. Owen was my first teacher (that is to say, apart from my father and mother). I came into her class at the ripe old age of five along with over a score of young Roystonians, all of whom would travel the same educational route for at least the next six years. This assumes that their parents stayed in the village: they usually did. Indeed, there was nowhere else to go, because this was the year of the 1921 strike, though all this passed over our little heads at the time. We were a mixed bunch. Bernard Toon and Harry Wass only lived a hundred yards or so away from the school. Edwin Rhodes and, I think it was Amy Jones, lived another hundred yards further up Church Street. I am not sure where Georgina Horsley lived. I do remember her rich brown hair as being the colour of the magnificent copper beech tree that grew opposite the school in the churchyard. Charlie Thompson lived in Windmill Terrace. Eric Buckingham and Gwennie Madison lived in Guiseley Cottages near to the Royston and Notton railway station. The only genuine top-enders were Winnie Senior, Bernard Stubbs, and Joey Hayward. Possibly the Haywards had lived in that small double cottage next-door to the Stubbs for generations. I say this because the cottage abutted on to Summer Lane and it was down Summer Lane that the hayward, in days gone by, would have driven the cattle to summer pasture.

I suppose one always remembers one’s first teacher with affection: I certainly do. She had taught my mother for one thing, and this gave her a special importance in my eyes. She was elderly even then, and never changed for many years afterwards. She had silvery hair, large brown eyes, a Roman nose (like my own today). She had a slight stoop as she moved up and down the classroom. When the Vicar, the Reverend Thomas, came in (as he did fairly regularly for we were a church school), she introduced us as the baby class.

I’m not sure if this was not a far better description of us than the more formal terminology of reception class of today.

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Her approach to teaching was just right. She had lots of picture books. She talked to us a lot, even cuddled us on a rare occasion, if things had gone wrong. She was the wife of Bobbie Owen, the church organist, so music ran in her family.

I remember certainly learning two hymns with her: Away in a Manger and Once in Royal David’s City. Around the walls of the classroom was an illustrated alphabet. A big A followed by a little a is for: and then a picture of a big red rosy apple, and underneath the word apple. This was replicated for all twentysix letters of the alphabet. I shall never forget our first Christmas in school in her classroom. We made paper lanterns, coloured them in crayon, and then hung them up on a string across the room. We also had a Christmas tree with some coloured lights: the yellow ones fascinated me, I recall.

For physical education and games we went down some stone steps into a little quadrangle with walls on all four sides. Mrs. Owen herself was never very agile, but she taught us a singing game called In and out the windows .......to find the queen of flowers. It was great fun. So was What time is it, Mr. Wolf?

The only picture I can recall is one of the frog prince. A girl in a very old-fashioned dress was sitting beside a fountain holding a big, yellow ball and on the other side was a green frog obviously talking to her. The story is long familiar, as are so many of the other fairy tales and nursery rhymes, which I could only have learned from her. The masses of frog-spawn from Scott Dyke that we put into jam jars never produced a fairy princess - or even a prince, for that matter!

I suppose I now recall her gentleness of manner and her soft crooning voice in class with greater warmth because her husband, by contrast, as choirmaster, was very strict and peremptory. I entered his choir on my eighth birthday and I still recall his comment to my father who had taken me down to church. “Yes, he has a powdery, puffy voice, but he’s obviously scared. We can work on him.” Two other boys were accepted at this time, Herbert Wagstaff and David Woolhouse. We had a tremendous wealth of talent among 2

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the choir-men, both bass and tenor, and two very good altos.

Mr. Owen was an exceptionally good organist, particularly on the pedals. This Conacher organ had been made in Huddersfield in the 1860s. I always regretted, as a full-grown man, the vicar’s decision to get rid of it and substitute an electric organ, the tonal reverberations of which were far less satisfying to the ear. My father was organist at the time and was continually having to change fuses and get rid of “crackles” in the speakers. In 1981, it broke down completely and was replaced by the organ from the Wesleyan Chapel at the Wells.

Mrs. Owen was a good church-goer, and I continued to see her as I grew up. She was always glad to see me and one of the nice things about growing up is to meet one’s former teachers, still in the role of in statu pupilari. When she was in her late seventies, and I had been away for sometime, I remember telling her what I had been doing. She smiled, and said, “Yes, but have you been good?” I knew what the twinkle in her eyes meant. I was forgetting what little harum-scarums we had been, with seemingly endless energy to burn up. I can still call Mrs. Owen to mind, and always with that mixture of respect and affection.

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Miss May Pickering Going through some of the books I had amassed over a lifetime, I chanced to open a very battered copy of Sir Walter Scott’s Waverley. In it was ensconced a little notebook with the bold lettering on it WRCC (for the uninitiated West Riding County Council); and underneath, my own name in a very wavering, fragile hand.

To my astonishment, it contained summaries of twelve novels, all well known, some of them so-called classics. They were part of the English work I had done in class with the redoubtable Miss May Pickering.

We all knew where she lived, which was unusual, for teachers to ten year old boys have an anonymity all of their own, outside school hours. Miss Pickering lived at the Wells, where her family kept the chemist’s shop. It had a romance and a magic all of its own. There was always an indefinable scenty smell about it, and in the front window were three huge bottles of red, green, and blue liquid. What they were, nobody knew.

As boys we would press our noses against the window and wonder if the minnows and tiddlers we caught in Scott Dyke at the bottom of the Green would be able to live in them, and would they turn the same colour if they did? What Miss Pickering did at the week-ends, nobody knew. What her qualifications for teaching were, nobody bothered to ask, or even cared. But in the classroom, we knew: nobody was like unto her!

She was strict. No talking was allowed during lesson time. If we wanted to talk to someone else or ask a question, we raised our right hand and then waited until we caught her eye.

Everything was methodical. In arithmetic, we began by revising the four rules, and then went on to fractions, thereafter to decimals, and (toward the end of the summer term) ventured even upon a little trigonometry. History followed a strict, chronological approach: the Ancient Britons, the Romans, the Anglo-Saxons (with lots of reference to Good King Alfred), the Vikings, the Normans, and then all the 4

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kings and queens. We knew all the great battles, particularly the naval ones. We knew the dates of the accession and the deaths of the various monarchs. Social history was a closed book. As a matter of fact, it took me a long time to realize that this was legitimate history in its own right. Geography followed much the same pattern with lots of reference to land masses, continents, rivers, capital cities, etc. Art was largely still-life: we drew twigs, flowers, fruits, and the like. In craft, the boys did various cutting-out exercises and a little bit of simple weaving, while the girls did needlework. We didn’t have a piano in our room, but that was no problem for Miss Pickering. We sang lots of folk songs together and appropriate hymns at the various Festival times (we were a Church of England school).

Sometimes we went into the church which was just across the way; and this suited me fine as I was by then a veteran choirboy of two years standing!

All this may sound very old-fashioned today, and probably is.

But the staggering thing about it is that I can recall so much of it; which leads me on to her constant emphasis upon memory training. She didn’t call it this, but this is what it was.

Everything we did was testable. Precise dates were sacrosanct. So were lists of spellings, maybe twenty or thirty at a time; and woe betide us, if we didn’t do well on the weekly test. There was none of this business of setting the words in a context so that they became meaningful. We learned them simply as words. Her fetish for accuracy carried over into my own university teaching days. It puzzled, and even hurt, some of my own students, who could not understand this tigerish pounce upon even fairly innocuous spellings.

In a somewhat similar fashion we learned our tables: regular spot tests, usually marked by interchanging books with the boy or girl with whom one shared a desk. In Miss Pickering’s room these desks were either two or four seaters. The classroom was galleried and our little group, or gang as we regarded ourselves, sat on the back row, or near it: Charlie Thompson, Edwin Rhodes, Eric Buckingham, Bernard Stubbs.

Just below us was the fair head of Gwennie Madison, so beautiful, and so unapproachable.

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It was, however, in the literature lessons that Miss Pickering most excelled. We read aloud lots of poetry. We also learned by heart certain poems; and again we had the usual test of memory. I still remember standing on the seat of our desk (we invariably had to do this because our desk companion remained seated) and I rattled off Wordsworth’s Daffodils. I still know it by heart; and recalling it now takes me back to a classroom where hard work was the order of the day. There was no in vacant or in pensive mood for her, no even looking out of the window.

Literary pundits will say that Shakespeare should not be taught to boys at the primary school stage, or for that matter even at the secondary school stage. Miss Pickering would have begged to differ. We read Macbeth with great gusto. We did scenes from Merchant of Venice; and as Bassanio I remember having to kiss Gwennie Madison as Portia. It speaks much for Miss Pickering’s iron control that there was no giggling, no comment at all. That came mercilessly in the playground and at home time afterwards.

And so I come to my little notebook. Here was a teacher spoonfeeding some of the greatest literature of all time into our young mouths. Yet it was hardly spoonfeeding, because we had to read the novels and then answer certain questions about them. There was a set format: the title of the novel first, then the author, and the dates in which he or she lived. Then we had to choose the incident which had moved us most and say why. Finally we had to choose the character we liked best and say why - always the hero in my case and never the heroine: Gwendolyn Madison in her green velvet dress ne’er had a rival!

For Miss Pickering, punctuality was next to godliness. Nobody ever dared come in late to her class. She herself observed the same rule. We accepted with ease her daily appearance before us in her dark navy blue costume with its starched white collar and white cuffs (only one other teacher wore white cuffs, the formidable Miss Brooks, headmistress of the infant school). Her hairstyle never changed: always well brushed 6

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back into a tight bun at the back of her head. I can hear now her immaculate, distinct diction. I can see the way she stood in front of us, or moved up and down the aisles. I suppose she did sit down at the teacher’s desk sometime, but if she did, I do not recall it. She seemed to be on the go all the time. If she came and stood behind you, it was no good surreptitiously trying to cover up the work you were doing with your hand: if you did, she would just firmly, albeit gently, remove your hand and then proceed to mark your work with a red pencil.

We left Miss Pickering’s class with mixed feelings of remorse and regret. At the time, there was an iniquitous system prevailing whereby children were segregated at the age of eleven. I was sent to a school twelve miles away, and it was further segregated by being a boys’ school only. Inevitably, I lost touch with all my various school friends. I have often wondered since how they fared in life. Again, Miss Pickering faded below the horizon. I much regret now not having gone back to express my gratitude to her for all she did.

Years later, I was to hear much about the interests of the teacher becoming the interests of the pupil. I was to read lots of research about how essential it is for a teacher to motivate pupils before they can begin to learn. But the way I remember Miss Pickering is in a little quatrain; and I don’t even know who wrote it. It goes like this: Not all the talk by you and me Can teach young minds what men should be, Nor all the books upon the shelves, But what the teachers are themselves.

Miss Pickering came straight from the Royal Mint and was pure gold.

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The Games We Played To a generation brought up almost exclusively on television watching, both the range of the games we played and the time we had available for playing them, will seem incomprehensible. Even radio was in its infancy; and certainly the nearest I got to regular listening was through a so-called small crystal set. My younger brother became quite adept at picking up signals from all across Europe and one of his proudest possessions was a series of cards acknowledging radio contact with these particular stations.

But for us, there was never enough time in a day to do all we wanted to do. I remember tea was gobbled on more than one occasion, inviting the appropriate parental rebuke. Looking back now, it is incredible how we managed to communicate to one another that we were going to meet to play games.

One traditional game was marbles, shortened to mabs for convenience. There were two main ways of playing marbles.

One was called roll-ups. Here, we made a podge against a wall or fence; a podge being a half circle with a depth of two or three inches. Each boy rolled his marbles in turn, the ones that did not go into the podge having to be nudged into the podge by the arched forefinger. If you failed to nudge one in, then your opponent had a go, the same opportunity being presented to an opponent when he rolled-up his marbles. The alternative to playing roll-ups was playing podge. Here, a number of marbles held in the hand were cast into the podge.

If even numbers remained in the podge and an even number outside, victory was yours. Units of four, six, or eight were the usual numbers held in the palm of the hand, thumb slightly to one side to steady the marbles in the hand before they were thrown into the podge. Inevitably, there were variants. For instance, if you had lost all your marbles except one, you could say “set’s a stonk.” In this case, your opponent would give you a marble and you, or he, would drop them on the ground. The trick then was to be able to hit your opponent’s marble by nudging. If you missed, he had the chance. If you hit him, or rather hit his marble, the marble was yours. I have known boys reduced to having one marble and yet survive to 8

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play marbles for many a day afterwards. But the master of the craft was a boy called Herbert Undy. He had a huge cellophane bag of them and I have never forgotten the incredible distances he could nudge a marble to hit an opponent’s marble, or nudge it into a podge. His death from blood poisoning was a stunning tragedy to us all. Given modern medical facilities, he might still have been alive today.

A second game we played was called all in. We usually played this game at the back of Snig Wilson’s farm which abutted onto Back Lane. Why he was called Snig, I don’t know: it certainly distinguished him from other Wilsons in Top End. He was a tall, gentlemanly type of man and I remember once or twice we stayed in his farmhouse when my mother and father went off for a short summer holiday. Mrs. Wilson’s cooking was fabulous and I still recall the huge helpings of vegetables she always gave us - broad beans, in season, for example. All in consisted of making a rough circle in the ground with a stick; placing a few bricks or stones in the middle; and on them, placing a tin can. The boy who was on had to stay in the ring and count up to a required number, during which time all we boys dispersed in sundry directions, and as far as we could, depending upon where we meant to hide. Again, it has to be remembered that all the land across from Back Lane was then open field and the hawthorn hedges provided lots of opportunities for camouflaging oneself. Once the count was up, the person who was on proceeded to look for everyone. As soon as he saw them he dashed back to the can and touched it and thereafter you were out. Eventually, we were all found and tagged in this way, though occasionally someone would succeed in getting to the can while the defender was away. In such a case, he kicked the can and everybody who had been tagged thus far had another chance to hide.

A third game was nipsy. Here we drew a circle and placed the nipsy in it. A nipsy was a short piece of rounded wood, perhaps three inches in length, with a sharpened point at each end. With a smart tap of a stick, the nipsy would fly up into the air and then one had to hit it as far as one could. A given number of strides were allocated, and if you were lucky, you 9

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could get to the nipsy in that number given you. Everybody played in turn and of course the highest number of strides meant that strider was the winner. I well remember the notched ash sticks which some of us made with which to hit the nipsy. They would be about three feet long, and had alternately bark and stripped bark bars of two inches or so.

A game based on the same principle as nipsy was knur and spell. Here, one placed a potty in a little cup, touched a spring loader, and then hit the potty when it flew up in the air just as far as one could. I never knew who owned this particular piece of mechanism. It was only available on certain occasions - and didn’t always work, either!

Another game was finger, thumb, or nowt. We would divide into two teams of four boys, as a rule. One would stand with his back to the wall and the other three would bend their backs, putting their heads between the legs of the boy in front and gripping his thighs. The boy who was pillar was allowed to hold the shoulders of the first boy. Opponents then ran from a prescribed distance and jumped onto the backs of the boys. If anybody fell off, they lost that game and positions were reversed. If they all stayed on, then the front boy could hold his hand up showing either an index finger, or a thumb, or a clenched fist which meant nowt. If the boy underneath guessed right, then positions were reversed. The umpire, of course, was the pillar who could see what sign was being shown. There was a more complicated variant on this known as ai, bai, cherry, finger, thumb or nowt. The first three represented the little finger, the next finger, and the third finger of the hand. But we found that we didn’t change positions enough with this (pretty obviously, in retrospect;); so we played what might be called the threesome variant most usually.

Yet another game was called ducks and drakes. Here, a pile of stones would be placed in a ring with one bigger stone on top. We all then stood at a suitable distance and threw stones until the big stone was dislodged.

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Finally, in the appropriate season, we played conkers. There was always an abundance of chestnut trees along High Street, and the trick was to get a good big one, pierce it through the middle to attach a piece of string, and then challenge an opponent to hit your conker, you, in turn, hitting his.

Eventually, one would split, leaving the owner of the other the victor. I remember heating a conker for a short period in the oven was a good way to give your own conker a tough enough consistency to last for many a day. All these games had a competitive edge to them. Years later I was to read much in my psychology books about the period of the gang in the development of boys. The age seven to ten or eleven just fitted us perfectly.

There were other games which perhaps were less competitive. We built forts around Abbledy, Abbledy being again an abbreviated form of Apple Haigh. More rarely, we built forts up Pond Lane on the way to the turnpike. These forts, however, were more rarely built, partly because of the open nature of the terrain, and also because of the limited range of materials. There was always plenty of bracken, but very little else. Round about Easter, the peg tops came out with lots of rivalry for who could chalk the most variegated pattern on the top of his peg. Some boys could keep a peg spinning for many, many minutes, and could also move down the street by whipping the top in the appropriate direction. We very rarely played hopscotch and skipping. These were girls’ games and woebetide the boy who strayed into skipping with the girls! In the school playground we had a small nook made up of two grey stone walls, rather like an isosceles triangle without a base. It was here where we played Cowboys and Indians, two teams being chosen and then set to collect (by physical force, if necessary) one’s opponents and put them in the den. This was a very rough game, and scratches on knees and torn clothing were familiar occurrences.

Perhaps the pastime the true top-ender liked best was walking along Scott Dyke and looking for fish. There were two pools where one could almost certainly catch a fish or two, if one had the patience. The fish were usually small, though occasionally we could catch a so-called redbreast. They were 11

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kept in jam jars, the water being changed regularly until the fish died, as they invariably did after a week or two.

Another favourite pastime was to go down to the old London and North Eastern Railway Line which ran from Notton Station to Barnsley. A coin like a farthing placed on the line became the size of a half-penny after the train had passed over it.

There was a wooden fence running along either side of this railway line and one of our games was to see how far we could walk on top of the fence without falling off. Sometimes we could get quite close to the signal box on Lee Lane, but not too close, in case the signal man recognized us! Jumping over bushes and across ditches was a popular dare - even barbed wire fences on occasion. I remember tearing my trousers badly on one such occasion, much to the distress of my mother. On another occasion, I had been climbing oak trees and came home covered with ants or some form of creepy-crawlers.

All this was a long time ago. Fields, fences, railway-tracks, have all disappeared. So has our closely guarded secret pathway to Abbledy. Only with an effort can I grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind. Yet I think how truly lucky we were, too!

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My Memories of Royston A few years ago now, I had the pleasure of reading a paper written by the pupils of Royston School. This contained the history and names of characters of the past 50 to 60 years, most of whom I remember well. The information had been gleaned from parents and mostly grandparents and made very good reading.

On reading the paper my memories ran riot and I decided to make a few notes myself, the following being the result.

William Hudson I was born in Milgate Street Royston, (at a very early age) some eighty years ago now and first saw the light of day ably assisted by the local midwife Mrs. Duffin, a quiet unassuming lady who was a good friend of the family and was well respected throughout the village. Mrs. Duffin lived at that time on Midland Road in a row of terraced houses owned by a Mr. Jonathan Ball. Just what the address was I don’t know but it was known then, and still is today, as Ball’s Row. The local doctor at this time was Dr. Eskrigge, a tall man who stood over six feet tall and quite well built too. Dr. Eskrigge had his surgery in High Street, the area known locally as Top End. Behind his surgery was an orchard which extended down to what was then called, the Doles. The Doles were open fields at that time and as I recall was common land, this has now been built on and is a large housing estate, The Doles Estate.

Dr. Eskrigge was the owner of two large slavering bulldogs and it was said that anyone caught stealing apples or pears was given the option of being introduced to the local bobby, or kneeling down and kissing the bulldogs. I was fortunate enough never to experience this myself as I used to jump over the wall of the Manor House on the other side of the road, this was owned at that time by a Mr. Oldroyd. I remember well an occasion when three of us climbed over the wall and were filling our pockets with apples when Mr. Oldroyd appeared, what I hadn’t realised in climbing over the wall was that it was much higher on the inside than the outside because the 13

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ground fell away. I was the smallest of the three and had great difficulty in getting back out, my mates got away but I was cornered with no means of escape. It goes without saying, when Mr. Oldroyd grabbed me I was in immediate, dire need of a toilet. The old gentleman was very nice about it and after asking my name and where I lived he told me how wrong it was to steal and in future if I came and knocked on his door he would give me some. Needless to say, once I had escaped I never thought of taking him up on his offer.

My pre-school memories are very few, but I do recall Milgate Street was still an unmade road with rocks and boulders all the way from top to bottom, though there were flagged footpaths on both sides of the street. The whole street was illuminated by no more than four gas lamps and these were lit each night by a man who went around the village on a bicycle carrying a bamboo pole about five feet long. The pole was used to push over a lever attached to the lamp, the lamp would then immediately burst into light, always provided the wind hadn’t blown out the pilot light or some high spirited vandal hadn’t broken the mantle. The light emitted was such that one only needed to travel about twenty yards to be in complete darkness once again.

I have a special memory of Dr. Eskrigge who I mentioned earlier, he was a man who was rarely seen without a large cigar clenched between his teeth. On one occasion, before I started school, I was left in the house with my mother, she hadn’t been very well and had sent for the doctor. She was in bed when he came; he knocked on the door and walked in asking where Mother was. I was the only one in at the time, probably having been delegated to keep an eye on the family jewels, father was at work and my brother Tom, and sisters Stella and Florence were at school. I meekly informed him that mother was in bed, Dr. Eskrigge took his cigar out of his mouth and placed it on a small shelf over the sideboard then made his way upstairs. This was then to be my first introduction to Madam Nicotine and I gingerly took the saliva soddened cigar from the shelf and placed it in my mouth and proceeded to puff away. The resulting smoke screen would, I imagine, be reminiscent of Stephenson’s Rocket, it wasn’t 14

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long before I felt dizzy and sick. I replaced the cigar onto the shelf and made a hasty retreat into the street and leaned against Daddy Wynn’s pawnshop window, to await the doctor’s departure. I can’t remember just what my mother’s ailment was, but it couldn’t have been as serious as mine was at that moment. When the doctor left I informed Mother that I didn’t feel very well either. When she asked why, I, like George Washington, couldn’t tell a lie and spilled the beans. If I had expected any sympathy I was doomed to disappointment and was told that it served me right......... I was a bad little so and so......... I wasn’t poorly enough and she had a good mind to tell my father when he got home........... This threat didn’t improve my state of health and luckily for me she didn’t carry it out, or if she did, I never heard any more about it.

After the death of Dr. Eskrigge, Dr. Jim Henderson took over the practice. This gentleman owned several horses and also rode a Brough Superior motorcycle.

Around this time I suffered quite a lot of sore throats, Dr Henderson was the chap who advised my mother that I would be in better health if I had my tonsils out. He would do the operation, and the fee would be in the region of three pounds.

Now three pounds would amount to two weeks wages for my father, so that was out of the question. Their only hope was that my sister Stella (who was at that time in service at Woolley Hall) might be able to help out. Yes, she had just saved up the required amount to buy herself a two-piece suit.

She was persuaded to foot the bill and arrangements were made for the operation to proceed. I remember Jimmy calling with a nurse, my trousers and shirt removed, and being laid out on the living room table on a bed sheet. A pad was placed over my nose and I was told to count to ten. The next thing I remember was waking up with what seemed like a jelly in the back of my throat which I was unable to swallow.

If the health service was poor the toilet facilities were equally as bad; these were composed of a building divided into three sections, the two end sections being the toilets. The toilets themselves were made from tongued and grooved boards 15

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built up to a height of about twenty inches and a further section laid horizontally to form a seat. A hole was then cut into it and the edges filed smooth. Children had to exercise extreme care when dismounting to save themselves the pain and embarrassment of having a splinter removed from their backsides. The toilet paper arrangement was usually a sturdy nail hammered into the wall within easy reach of the user and the previous days Daily Herald cut into pieces of approximately eight inches square, the whole lot was then strung together and hung on the aforementioned sturdy nail, your toilet was now ready for use.

One often came upon some difficulties though, each toilet was shared by two families. Now, things weren’t too bad if each family consisted of mother, father and one or two kids, but if there were more, you could find yourself in dire straits ....... If you had the misfortune to live next door to a large family who were early risers, then woe betide you if you were beaten to the post! You could then spend a considerable length of time peering from behind the kitchen curtains waiting for whoever happened to be in residence at that moment to vacate the premises. Your luck could very often be out, for, as though by some prior arrangement, or telepathic signal, the vacating occupant would be met by another member of the same family before you had time to make your move. This could be very frustrating and meant that you had to adopt drastic measures, such as placing yourself strategically within striking distance, or by taking the toilet door handle firmly in your grip and hanging on like grim death, meanwhile giving the occasional cough or whistling the latest tune, to let the person inside know that your name was next on the housing list.

There was a story told about a neighbour who had a relative who came to stay with them. The gentleman had lost both legs during the war and had been fitted with two wooden ones. On one occasion when visiting the toilet, he was sitting down with his wooden legs stretched out against the toilet door to bar anyone else from entering when a neighbour tried to gain access. On finding his way barred he returned to the house and told his wife that, some silly bugger had put a wheelbarrow in the loo.

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The middle part of the building was used as a midden, for the disposal of ashes and other household waste which would include newspapers etc. A favourite pastime of the kids was to wait until someone entered the toilet and then set fire to the paper and watch for the occupant to hastily retreat coughing and spluttering. Another trick which had us rolling in the aisles was to take several sheets of newspaper and roll them loosely lengthwise and insert them one after the other into the fall pipe which took the rainwater away from the roof. About half a dozen sheets was enough, having left enough paper hanging out to ignite the bottom piece. We would then retreat across the street to an entry, the up draught created a terrific roar which brought the householder to the door to see what the hell was happening. The roar was of such a short duration that by the time the door was opened, all that could be seen were bits of burnt paper floating earthwards. These were the days before television and we had to amuse ourselves as best we could. I suppose these days we would be called vandals, though let me say we did so without causing damage to anyone’s property.

Royston being a mining area, the depression was at its height and therefore money was tight, so our only treat was on Saturday, when promptly at two o’ clock, the local cinema opened its doors for the kids to pile in at a penny a time. This was known as the Penny Rush. Before the film show actually started, we were entertained on the piano by a gentleman by the name of Jim Watson and all were encouraged to join in and sing along as he played the hit tunes of the day (the equivalent of today’s Top of The Pops), I believe the top tune at that time was I’m forever blowing bubbles. Mr Watson was a brilliant pianist, though his efforts were rarely appreciated by the assembly of tearaways. Mr Watson would play the William Tell Overture during the scenes where the cowboys chased the Indians amid the cheers and stamping feet of the audience. In another film one might see the no good son dragging his poor down trodden mother in the direction of the poorhouse, Jim would play Hearts and Flowers and the kids would boo the dastardly actions of the son.

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The cinema was at that time owned by Mr Jonathan Ball, whom I mentioned earlier. He was a man who could have stepped out of a Dickens novel. He wore a long frock coat, had a beard and moustache and wore a hard chimney hat which had probably been in the family for generations. This man was a stickler for discipline and could have put the youth of today in its place. He carried a long schoolteacher’s cane and would patrol back and forth, up and down the aisles and heaven help you if you were caught doing anything un-toward.

Should you be doing anything wrong, you would be given a terrific whack across the shoulders with the cane and unceremoniously escorted from the premises and told in no uncertain terms that your custom should be taken elsewhere. I should add that there was never any mention of your money being refunded.

Mr Watson played at the evening programme, but played a different type of music to that of the Saturday matinee. He played operatic pieces and ballet music which I appreciated very much from an early age. He also played piano at the Monckton Club a few yards away from the cinema. There, he would accompany the singers at the Sunday lunchtime and evening openings.

On the subject of music, a neighbour of ours in Milgate Street played the euphonium in Royston Silver Band and we would listen to him practising a couple of evenings a week, but nothing sounded nicer than to hear him on a summer’s morning giving forth with such pieces as La Donna e mobile,...... When Other Lips..... or Wandering Minstrel.

Anyone in the village who was musically inclined was well catered for. There was at the time a senior and a junior Salvation Army Band and, on Sundays, each would play in different parts of the village, following which, a door to door collection would be taken. There was also the local Silver Band, which gave concerts in the park during the summer months. There were two choirs, one mixed voice, conducted

by Mr Thornton who was headmaster of the National School, the other was a male voice choir, and Mr Jack Williams wielded the baton.

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The Salvation Army Band would sometimes play within the vicinity of the Working Men’s Club at Sunday lunchtime just as the members were making their way home after a session of merrymaking. The officer would try to persuade them to see the errors of their ways, forsake the demon drink and enter the open-air circle and give their souls to Jesus. He met with little success as a rule, but I do recall three men who joined in over a period of years but none of whom stayed the distance. One volunteer whose musical talent was nil was eventually delegated to carry the flag and he did so for many years. He was unlucky in that he was never provided with a holster in which to place the base of the flagpole and consequently had to place it in the waistband of his trousers. After parading the whole length of the village and back it doesn’t need too vivid an imagination to realise he would be happy and relieved to dispose of his burden. I never saw it but was told, on very good authority, that after several years he was the possessor of the deepest navel in the village.

Back to the musical aspect of the village. As I mentioned earlier, the Silver Band would give concerts in the park during the summer months and a collection would be taken at the gates, the proceeds of which would go towards providing new instruments and uniforms. I remember an occasion when Mr Donny Evans sang a solo accompanied by the band, the title of the song was Sanctuary of the Heart and this without the aid of a microphone or loudspeakers. The band was conducted by Mr Buckle who was the under manager at Monckton Colliery. Another annual event was known as the Sing. This took place again in the park and was also called Hospital Sunday. The choir consisted, I think, of members of the Wesleyan and Primitive Methodist choirs. The orchestra was of local people who seemed to gather only on this occasion, except that is for the rehearsals at the Monckton gymnasium a few weeks before the actual event. The conductor in this instance was Mr Arthur Westerman.

Members of the orchestra, as I remember, were Mr Luke Wagstaffe, stableman at Monckton pit, he played double bass, Albert Vicars, a local cobbler, on violin, two gentlemen by the name of Shaw, one violinist and the other on cello. A Mr Billy Smith played the flute. There were others but their names 19

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escape me after all these years. The programme was varied but the highlight of the afternoon was their rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus. I know it wasn’t up to the Huddersfield version, but for a once a year effort it was pretty good, again a collection was taken at the gate and the proceeds this time went to Barnsley’s Beckett Hospital, there being at that time no benefit scheme or social security as there is in this day and age.

Another annual event in aid of the Beckett Hospital was the Carnival, which was more or less a fancy dress parade. The whole village turned out for this event and, as they say, a good time was had by all. The Silver Band was again to the fore leading the parade and the comic bands, fully costumed, followed blowing their tommy talkers. The week before this took place a bullock was purchased and paraded through the streets and the villagers could, for the price of three pence try to guess its weight. The winner was presented with some sort of prize on the day of the carnival. The bullock was then killed and roasted on a spit in the Midland Club football field and disposed of at a shilling a sandwich. Again all of the proceeds of this and the collections taken during the carnival procession were donated to the hospital. I recall two contestants who took part in the fancy dress parade, one was George Shepherd and the other was Dad Pigden. Both were hefty men and would dress up as women, exaggerating the female endowments and wearing oversized undergarments, which they were not averse to exhibiting; much to the delight of the gathered populace.

Mark Rowley, who owned the garage near the entrance to the park, bought a huge football, which, when inflated, stood about six feet high. The workingmen’s clubs each selected six members to play at pushball with it. The opposing sides played to get the ball through the opposite goal posts. The size of the ball meant that to kick at it made no impression at all so the only means of propulsion was to dig your toes in and push like hell. The result was that on many occasions when, the ball being pushed from both sides, finished up in the air and held at arms length by twelve men. The weaker side usually ended up collapsing to the ground with the ball on top 20

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of them. Whether either side ever scored is debatable but it was good entertainment while it lasted. Another test of skill, or lunacy was to try and hang on to a kind of sledge that was tied by about five feet of rope onto the back of a motorcycle, that was then ridden at ever increasing speed around the football field and suddenly cornering in an attempt to throw the man behind off, the man adjudged to have stayed on the longest was of coarse the winner, his prize probably being a bottle of Sloane’s Liniment to ease his aches and pains.

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CHILDHOOD IN GODLEY STREET Thelma Street I was born in 1942, christened Thelma Roebuck, and lived at 43 Godley Street until I got married in 1965. My early childhood friends outside of school were the other children in the street around my own age. The families in the street were the community immediately outside our homes and provided the environment, which we accepted as a secure place to be.

Godley Street was completely enclosed in those days. The Bush Working Men’s Club at the top of Godley Street was regarded as a den of iniquity by those whose religion forbade drinking alcohol, but it was a place for a well-earned night out for the majority of its members. Members’ wives looked forward to Saturday or Sunday nights when they would look their most glamorous to accompany their husbands to the club for the weekend’s entertainment.

We children did exaggerated imitations of the singing we heard and laughed about it. Anything else that happened in the club, apart from drinking beer, was a complete mystery to us. At weekends we were often woken up by loud talking, shouting, swearing, arguments and laughter as people made their way home at closing time. We heard, also, those leaving the Midland Club in Alfred Street if we lived towards the bottom of Godley Street.

The majority of children in Godley Street enjoyed the annual Club Trip. Those Dads who didn’t go to the club at all paid their membership fee so that they could take their families on the day-trip to the seaside. Hundreds of us went by coach or train and each child received money and a bag of rock... wonderful!

The land between numbers 34 and 36 was a grassy field belonging to Mr. Alfred and Mrs. Minnie Whittington at number 34, where their daughter, Hetty Cooper lives now. The land was sold later for the building of Council bungalows behind the property. Granddad Whittington, as he was called by the 22

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children in the street was a retired miner who squatted outside his garden wall in the manner that miners did who were used to being underground in confined spaces. He smoked his pipe, talked to everyone that passed by and kept an eye on the children for their Mums.

The land where houses numbered 49 to 55 are now, and the houses behind them, was where Royston Roman Catholic Church was situated. We used to climb the trees beside the church, make dens in them and queue for turns to swing on a particularly stout branch of one tree. We were not supposed to go on to the church field. We might be caught trespassing, but the greater fear was of ghosts we were sure lived in the church foundations! I think the church was demolished in 1971 when the present church was ready near the Telephone Exchange on Midland Road.

In the Summer we would sit on the grass in the street outside the church gate making daisy-chains, picking buttercups to test who liked butter by holding them under each other’s chins, and throwing sticky buds (Burdock seed heads) at each other. If these stuck in our hair as well as on our clothes we’d cry with pain as our Mums tried to get them out, having to cut them out on occasions. We also went home covered in spots, which our Mums called heat lumps, but were really insect bites. Calamine Lotion, which dried pink, was duly applied to the bites after our strip wash in the kitchen sink, before we went to bed.

There was a high fence with a locked gate at the bottom of the street after number 38. This was The Midland Railway Field, strictly no trespassing! Football matches were played there with two old railway carriages used as changing rooms. The Brownies and Guides also met there at one time. I think that Mrs. Bagshaw, wife of the Church School Headmaster, led the Brownies and Guides.

Later, Hubert Braham who lived at number 33, acquired the use of one of the railway carriages as a garage for repairing and rebuilding motorcycles, his eldest son, Carl, first helping and men working alongside him. Sadly, this became the site of 23

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Godley Street’s greatest tragedy when a fire broke out whilst Carl was working there alone. He was taken to Pinderfields Hospital but died from his burns shortly afterwards. He was still in his teens.

Houses built to extend Godley Street beyond numbers 38 and 55 were built in the last few years in the area that was The Midland Railway Field.

The Street was the domain of children out of school. Roads were very quiet and the streets we lived on were unmade and almost traffic free. Few people had cars and only visiting Tradesmen were regulars. Some of these had a horse and cart, the Mussel Man, the farmer who sold his cauliflowers and the Rag an’ Bone Man. We would rush out with a bucket and shovel to collect any horse manure deposited near the front of our houses to fertilise our gardens! The Butchers’ boys had bikes with baskets on the front, so did the Co-op delivery boy.

The Fish Man had a van and the Pot Man had an open-sided van decorated like the Pedlars’ caravans in the stories and poems we read.

Other door to door tradesmen would park their vehicles at the top of the street and walk from house to house inviting prospective customers to come and view the range of rugs and lino they had for sale after tempting them with a sample they had brought to the door. There were men with suitcases of cleaning materials for sale, booksellers, and those with carpet sweepers or sewing machines hoping to be allowed to demonstrate their product and then take an order.

Then of course there were the Gypsies. They sold wooden pegs they had made and paper flowers. They begged tea and sugar, one or two teaspoonfuls wrapped in a twist of newspaper, and hoped to tell fortunes for a palm crossed with silver. They would leave in anger, shouting curses on anyone who had rejected them completely, so that most people were sure to buy their wares or give them something, if only permission to use the (outside) toilet!

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Playing Out was what we did! Children who lived down Godley Street would call for one another to play out. We had to wait outside other children’s homes, occasionally being allowed to stand just inside the doorway, whilst waiting for a friend to be ready. They might have had to finish a meal. finish a job or go on an errand before playing, or have to bring younger children with them as a condition of being allowed out. We would play in back yards in gardens or in large groups, for seasonal activities, in the street itself.

During school holidays, we would include in our play, children who came to visit relatives. I remember Tony Whittington who came from Bradford to stay with his grandma and granddad Whittington at number 30, the bungalow across the road from us. His granddad, who kept pigs at the top of his garden, was brother to Alf Whittington at number 34. There were also those who had lived with their parents and grandparents in Godley Street until their parents had got their own house elsewhere.

They came to visit and stay with their grandparents regularly.

Doreen Griffiths visited her Grandma Childs at number 19.

Graham West came to visit his Grandma Firth at number 38, where he had lived until his family got one of the first newlybuilt houses to be ready at Kirk Cross Crescent. Michael, Susan and John Hawkins visited their grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. George Pears. They had moved to number 32 Godley Street from their business at 109 Midland Road, a shop at the bottom of Milgate Street, now a Fish and Chip shop. John Bettison, who lived at Ryhill, was also a regular weekend visitor to his grandparents, Mr and Mrs Bettison at number 23 Children whose homes were on the even numbered side of Midland Road at the top of the street were also considered part of the Godley Street community. These included Susan Oldfield and her older brother whose parents had the grocery shop at number 262; Margaret Williams and her older brother, Neville, whose parents and grandparents, Mr and Mrs Pether, had the fish shop, number 252 and Stephen Hellewell whose mum and dad were newsagents at number 250. Christine Goulding, who lived near the Bush W.M.C.; Margaret and Malcolm Brown who lived behind Eastman’s butcher’s shop; 25

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and Connie Hutchinson, her sisters and brother who lived next door to them behind the hairdresser’s shop. Bernard Taylor’s daughters, Eunice and Linda, who visited their grandparents at number 232 and came to live there when their dad took over the undertaking business from his father, Ernest, were included, as were the Ferguson girls who lived at number 228, their parents’ greengrocer’s shop. Finally, Anne Smith who lived up North Road, was also included. Anne was a close friend of Pam Morley at number 25 Godley Street and spent a lot of time there.

Other people’s cousins would visit, particularly in school holidays. Some lived in other parts of Royston, in Ryhill or Carlton, whilst others came from further afield. They would be accepted and allowed to join in our activities for the duration of their visit.

Girls together would often play at School. The girl whose yard we played in could always be the teacher first! We also played with dolls and prams. We dressed our dolls, changed and occasionally washed their clothes, fed them and took them for walks. When we were learning to sew and knit we made rather crude and simple things for our dolls to wear, but thought they were wonderful.

We spent hours playing ball and sometimes had to stop when Mums, or neighbours, complained about the noise of balls constantly banging on house walls. We enjoyed skipping too and boys and girls would all be involved. I remember my Mum telling me to watch Trevor Ward, who lived at number 37, to learn how to use a skipping rope properly!

When a gang of girls and boys played together in the street it would be Kick-Out-Can, Hiddy, Lampposts and seasonal games such as Hopscotch, Marbles, Whip and Top (the tops decorated with chalk patterns) as well as Skipping. Lampposts was like Rounders but using a hand for the bat. The four posts were the gas lamps and drainpipes about halfway down the street. We played at dusk with light from the lamps before being called in for bed. The lamplighter came round every evening to light the lamps and every morning to put them out.

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Someone else came round the street very early each morning to knock on bedroom windows with a long pole to wake up those miners on day-shift who might otherwise overlay and miss work.

If our parents wanted us to go home when we were playing, one of them would come outside to the front of the house in the street and shout our name in a very loud voice. We often pretended not to hear if we were playing where they could not see us, but if we ignored their calls for too long we were hit when we did go home and probably not allowed out to play the next day.

I remember particularly, the strange world of the street in the winter of 1946-47. The snow was so deep that when our dads cleared paths through the yards and passages and at the front of the houses, linking paths up the street, it was like walking through tunnels from my height at four years old, a real Winter Wonderland adventure. Children, wearing old socks on their hands, made snowmen which lived for weeks, whilst icicles, several feet long, gave some houses the appearance of Snow Queen palaces, especially at dusk by the light of the gas lamps.

We had sledges in winter snow and cadgies to race down the street on in fine, dry weather. The sledge and cadgy my dad made for my brother, Alwyn, and me were strong and well designed. The sledge, on which two could sit or one could lie down, had metal runners, and the cadgy had brakes and a steering handle. For years before these were made, we were part of the group without our own vehicles, waiting hopefully for others to let us have a turn, which they usually did.

Meanwhile, we improvised with anything from large cardboard boxes for sledges to gathering parts we could fasten together for makeshift cadgies. There were great opportunities for children and adults to be involved together, enjoying them and learning from each other.

The cadgy, so called perhaps, because most people cadged or begged for the parts to make one, was useful for many things. We used ours to collect empty jam jars then take them 27

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to the Co-op where we got a halfpenny for each 1 lb jar and a penny (1d) for each 2 lb jar. I was happy if I had a penny to spend, and rich if I had threepence. Money earned might have been used for buying sweets or going to the pictures, but was often put into moneyboxes to save for buying Christmas presents.

We could also earn pennies running errands for those in the street that could not get to the shops so easily themselves.

We would be asked to post a letter, fetch a loaf of bread or some other groceries. Cadgies were useful for carrying potatoes and other heavy items. My mum said I was to refuse money from the old people I did errands for, but they always insisted that I take the penny or two offered. I was a regular shopper for the Wagstaffes at number 29!

In school holidays there were regular trips to Royston Park, the oldest children being made responsible for the younger ones and everyone was usually made to take along younger siblings, even those in prams. The park had lots of apparatus for us to play on then. It was a lovely place with plenty of activities and was so well kept by the park keeper.

Another school holiday trip was to Abbledy Cloughs and the Bluebell Wood between Bleakley and Notton. We took jam or dripping sandwiches and bottles of water, or if we were lucky, diluted Clinic orange juice! We jumped backwards and forwards over the stream, exclaiming over tadpoles, water boatmen and colourful insects. Someone always fell in and returned home wet through, the older children being reprimanded for allowing it to happen. The armfuls of Bluebells put into jam jars didn’t last long but gave us great pleasure.

We put on concerts in our back yards, dressing up in adults’ old clothes, cloths, curtains or anything else we could acquire, charging a halfpenny or a penny (Id) for others to come and watch. We would do Charades when everyone would have to spot a word hidden in the three or four scenes acted out.

Then, those putting on the show would do individual items, a song, a dance, recite a poem or tell a joke. The stage would 28

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often be the space allocated for the dustbins in the yard, these being moved away first. Everyone there would probably have a drink of water and a bun made by one of the mums, and we would enjoy ourselves tremendously.

Although there was plenty of falling out and fighting between the children of Godley Street, and bullying sometimes, everyone looked out for each other outside the street. We might need protecting from older children from other streets off Midland Road at the Saturday Matinee at the Palace, from enemies we met in the park, from The Dove Hill Lot, our nearest rivals, or recognised troublemakers from any other area of the village who could pose a threat in any situation. At such times we knew we could rely on each other for support and recognised the truth of safety in numbers!

We always looked forward to Bonfire Night when five or six families would get together in back yards to share the festivities. Mums would share out the food provision, baked potatoes, hot pies and mushy peas, home-baked sticky parkin, treacle, jam and lemon tarts, and bonfire toffee. Dads kept the fire under control, stoking it up with all the wood collected for weeks before, keeping the fire going until after midnight. We oohed and aahed over Catherine wheels, Roman candles, fairy fountains and snowstorms, made patterns in the air with handheld sparklers and screamed with fear and delight as we tried to avoid the jumping-crackers and bangers thrown at our feet. Older children would wander up and down the street, visiting all the bonfires, seeing other fireworks and enjoying extra food. One or two of the older boys always saved some fireworks until all the others were gone, then gave a final show before everyone went home to bed.

The greatest event for Godley Street was, without doubt, the street party for the Coronation in June 1953. Preparations had been in progress for months, mums in particular, and some dads, had beavered away making prizes for endless raffles, whist drives, beetle drives and coffee mornings, held alternately in people’s homes. Half a dozen eggs in egg-cups with knitted cosies on top, tea cosies, tray cloths, cushion covers, fully dressed dolls, home made jams, pickles and 29

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vinegars, garden produce, freshly baked cakes, scones and scufflers, and ever more ingenious prizes as, increasingly, the challenge to provide something different was met. We children paid a penny each to watch Children’s Hour on T.V. at Eric Hawkes’ house, the first family in the street to get a television.

We were making our own contribution to the Coronation party effort. A committee was formed, money banked by the Treasurer, the Junior Girls’ School hall booked for the Party Saturday and excitement grew.

What a time we had when the great day arrived! Scrubbed clean, hair tidy and shining, wearing smart clothes and patriotic hats, we enjoyed hours of revelry; party food and drink, games, music, dancing and party pieces, surrounded by decorations of red, white and blue. Finally, totally exhausted, we wended our way home, clutching our coronation mugs and other memorabilia of the event. The residents of Godley Street had achieved, shared and enjoyed something really special, culminating in a day to remember.

Those friends of my childhood grew up and left home. Eric Hawkes still lives in Godley Street, across the street from number 21, his childhood home. Others still live in Royston as I do and some in neighbouring villages, whilst the whereabouts of many are unknown to me. It would be nice to know what happened to them all.

FRIENDS I REMEMBER FROM GODLEY STREET House No

Name

1 3 9 19 21 25 1st 25 2nd 27 31 33 35 37

Marlene Walton Phillip Sumner John Bennett Doreen Griffiths Eric Hawkes Frankie Waller Pam & Barbara Morley Shirley Lakin Penny Goodyear Carl Braham Irene Billingham Trevor Ward 30

Brothers and Sisters younger (y) older (o) John(y) Kathleen(y) Kathleen(y) Kevin(y) Brenda(y) Barbara(y) Beryl(o) Edwin(o) Joyce(o) Russel(y) Billy(y) Jill(y) Jean(o) Margaret(y) Carol(y)

Memories of Royston

39 41 43 45 47 16 18 22 24 26 1st 26 2nd 36 38

Roy Fletcher Cynthia Jacques Thelma Roebuck John Deighton Stan Smart Rodney Hill Doreen Ralston Pauline Smart Malcolm Garner Derek Clarke Albert and Patricia Hawkes Eric Towers Graham West

Keith(y) Margaret(o) Alwyn(y) Derek(y) Jennifer(y) Gloria(y) Kevin(y) Leslie(y) Gary(y) Patricia(y) David(y) Winifred(o) Alan(y) Geoff(y) David(y) Linda(y)

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FORTY YEARS ON Leaving school and starting work in the 1960’s Jim Evison Often the first experience of work was a spare time or Saturday job, especially for those staying on for further or higher education and whose friends were enjoying the freedom that a wage packet gave. But not exclusively so some teenage interests could be quite expensive.

Helping local milkman - 5 shillings a week.

Had Saturday job on Barnsley market at 14, earned 10 shillings.

At 15 a job at Littlewood’s cafe, earned about 15 shillings.

My first work was a Saturday job on the market, my wage was 10 shillings. The bus fare was 1s 3d - you could ask for a return fare then on the buses. (An economy measure which has since been revived.)

In 1970 I was 15 years old. I baby-sat every Saturday night for 7s 6d. This bought a record, that is a single. Also worked in a bread shop as a Saturday girl and got 15 shillings for 7 hours work.

When I was fifteen I started a Saturday job at Timothy White’s and Taylor’s the chemists. I earned £1 which I was allowed to keep instead of pocket money.

In 1967 I worked in a bakery for 9 hours each Saturday. The wage was 2s 6d an hour. I was also given 10 shillings pocket money so I had a total of £1 12s 6d a week. The Saturday night disco was 6 shillings. A big expense was buying an L.P. record which was 32s 6d (a whole week’s money). My favourite group was The Hollies and I joined their fan club.

For most young people reality came at the end of the school term in which they celebrated their 15th birthday. And in most cases it was straight to work. These people writing a quarter of a century on at the end of the 1980’s, a decade which had 32

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seen unemployment figures soar, were reminded of an age when the unemployed were about 1 1/2 % of the working population.

The choice of jobs when I left school was plentiful. You could pick and choose and swap and change. There were no dole queues.

They could get almost any job without any qualifications because training would be given with the job.

A lot of young men leaving school would look for jobs in engineering, especially in the coal mines and their service industries. Young women would get jobs in the paper mill in Barnsley, various sewing factories, Empire Stores in Wakefield.

Jobs were plentiful so the choice for people with few or no qualifications was for girls to work in local factories (mainly sewing or bulb making) or to travel further afield on buses provided by the mills. Boys normally followed their fathers into the pit.

Lots of jobs in mines, steelworks and mills and on the railways.

There were always jobs available like office work, hairdressing, working in banks and nursing.

My friends from the youth club got jobs in sewing factories, some got jobs at Redfearn’s. Everyone expected to get a job when they left school.

Lots of boys with no qualifications expected to go down the pit or take apprenticeships with local building firms as bricklayers, plumbers and electricians. Some went as motor mechanics or to local factories. Girls went as office, shop and factory workers.

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That Royston was overwhelmingly dependent on mining for most of the twentieth century is evident from the summary tables of the 1911 and 1931 Censuses and an Urban District Council employment survey of 1936.

1911 2493 aged over 10 years

1931 2500 aged over 14 years

1936 2658

1959

Total male workforce Mining Railways Unemployed Shop work Building Coke ovens

1619 (65%) 58 (2.3%) 249 (10%) 73 (3%) 68 (2.7%) 67 (2.7%)

1988 (79.5%) 55 (2%) 112 (4.5%) 84 (3.3%) 52 (2%) 75 (3%)

1641 (61.7%) 184 (7%) 237 (8.9%) 103 (3.8%)* 49 (1.8%) 79 (2.9%)

56% 6% 11% -

*includes both male and female

The situation had changed but little in 1959 when Miss F. Parker, headmistress, was reviewing parents’ occupations in the Girls’ Secondary School’s silver jubilee year. The effect of the building of the railway sheds in the early 1930’s can be seen.

That there were few opportunities for female employment in the village pre-war is also obvious.

1911 over 10 yrs Total No. women at work 247 Domestic service 110 (45.3%) Shop work 28 (11.3%) Other occupations 30 dressmakers (2.1%) 27 teachers = 10.9%

1931 over 14 yrs 226 93 (41%) 66 (29%) 28 local government employees (12.3%)

In the 1959 survey, 61 mothers had a job (32 full, 29 part time) of these 19 (31%) did domestic work or hospital cleaning, 18 (29.5%) were factory workers and 11 (18%) served in a shop, on the market or as bar staff. The influence of the clothing factories, a development of the war effort, is plain to see.

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But to summarise, for both sexes there was little difference in job opportunities in the 1950’s from those of the first half of the century. Even the factory workers were the grand daughters of the Edwardian dressmaker.

Unfortunately, Miss Parker’s information on the jobs taken up by her school leavers is not so statistically detailed but it is not without value.

A large number of leavers obtain work in the local shirt, blouse and light springs factories. Some girls travel daily by bus to the woollen mills in Wakefield and Huddersfield. Others obtain work as shop assistants in the village and neighbouring towns. (Shoe shops are the most popular choice).

Four girls have stayed on to 16 yrs. in order to enter Barnsley Beckett Hospital as nursing cadets.

Those early days at work remain in the memory forever.

When I was 15 I left Royston Secondary Modern School wanting to do office work. I had an interview at Ceag Ltd. in Barnsley who made lamps, but I did not get a job. I then had an interview at Siddall and Hilton Ltd. on High Street in Royston who make furniture springs. I got a job and started work in March 1963 as an office junior. My first wage was £4 5s 0d gross and £3 18s 6d nett. I can remember that in 1963 for working 46 hours in the week a man’s wage was £9 5s 0d and a woman’s £7 15s 0d. The holidays then used to be one day each on Easter Monday, Whit Monday and Boxing Day and two weeks annual holiday at the end of July.

I went to work at Redfearns National Glassworks where Focus DIY, Harborough Hill, is now. My first job was to sew the sacks which held marbles. The needles we used were about 12 inches long, the sacks were very hard and coarse as was the string we used. It used to make our hands bleed. My hours of work were Monday to Friday 7. 30 a.m. to 4. 30 p.m. and Saturday morning 7. 30 a.m. to 12 noon. My first weeks wage was £6 1s 8d.

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Some left school with definite ideas of what they wanted to do, some ambition that they had had since childhood. For some, however, things did not work out as planned.

I wanted to be a draughtsman but got a job as a laboratory assistant. My starting wage was £4 10s a week including Saturday mornings. I got an extra 10 shillings if I worked on Sunday morning.

Before I left school I wanted to be a laboratory assistant so the careers mistress arranged for me to spend a day at the laboratories at Pinderfields Hospital. However, I failed my ‘O’ level maths so I started work as a receptionist/telephonist for Valusta Ltd. at a starting wage of £4 15s for a 40 hour week.

Leaving school and starting work was very exciting for me.

For most of my childhood all I ever wanted to do when I grew up was to be a hairdresser. At the age of fifteen my dream came true. Long hours and hard work for very little pay over the next three years were what lay ahead but I loved every minute of it. Some of my friends got jobs in chemist or sweet shops they worked for fewer hours than I did - and got much more in wages. I remember that my wage at the age of fifteen was £2 10s.

If nothing else the first wage was clearly remembered. The upward trend reflects the inflationary spiral that was just beginning to turn as the sixties came to an end.

Girls There were plenty of jobs in the fifties and my first wage was £2. 10s for forty hours work and I was allowed 10 shillings pocket money.

For a shop assistant’s wage with the B.B.C.S. (Co-op.) Central Barnsley Drapery Dept. my first wage was about £2. 10s.

My first job was as secretary in a solicitor’s office and I earned about £4 per week when I first started and this was considered a very good wage.

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Warehouse assistant £3 3s a week. N.C.B. wages clerk £6 a week (approx.).

In 1966/67 my wage for working in an office was £4. 10s per week.

Girl - office junior, ledger clerk - £4 per week My friend started work in a shop for about £6 a week rather than staying on at school to take ‘O’ levels.

My first job was a shop assistant, I got £6 6s a week.

After leaving school at 17 I started work at Hepworth Pipe Co. as a punch tape operator, then a U.D.U. operator starting at £6. 10s.

I left school in 1970 and jobs weren’t too bad to get then. I started at the Empire Stores as an office junior. My wage was £6 a week.

When I left school my first job was at a mill with three other friends. I didn’t like it so I went for a job at Asda. The first wage I received was around £8 a week.

Boys My dad got £3. 19s. 6d. a week when he started work.

My first job when I left school was in the pit. My first wage was £7 a week.

My first job on leaving school was as a clerk with the council transport department. My wage was £4 per week. But after 12 months I went to Woolley Colliery and initially worked on the surface. I then got promoted to work underground. I then earned about £7 a week.

As a miner, first wages £8 a week.

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For those with an ambition to study further and whose parental means would permit it, opportunities were beginning to appear.

There has been a trend in the past few years for girls to stay on until 16 yrs. of age. Besides the girls who wished to take up nursing other girls wished to study commercial subjects from 15-16 yrs. as one teacher was qualified ... but she left the school in July, so the 6 girls who wished to stay on were accepted for courses at the Barnsley and Wakefield Technical Colleges. 4 other girls would have stayed on if the school had run a G.C.E. course. The small Fifth Form of recent years has given some direction and purpose to the School but with the present staffing conditions such a small group is an uneconomical use of teacher time. It was considered better to encourage the girls to try for acceptance in Further Education Courses. (Miss Parker, 1959.)

Young people generally had money to spend and jobs were plentiful. Unemployment in the 1960’s was negligible and young people leaving school often had a choice of jobs. Once in employment lots of young people took advantage of Further Education through day release and evening classes which expanded rapidly in the 1960’s. Although wages were very low compared with today (often around £5 a week) inflation was very low and £10 went a long way. £20 a week (£1000 a year) was the dream of most working people in the Royston area.

My first full time job was as a trainee at Monckton colliery. I worked in the timber yard loading timber into mine cars ready to go down the pit. My first wage was £4 0s 4d for a five day week from 6 a.m. until 2 p.m. I went to work down the pit at 16 and after six months I decided that I wanted to train as an electrical engineer. I went to Grimethorpe to sit the entrance examination. 220 entrants sat for it but there were only 30 places available. I was fortunate to get one of those places and served a 5 year apprenticeship with the National Coal Board.

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I knew before I left school what sort of job I wanted to do. I wrote a letter of application for an apprenticeship to the company which most interested me. I had an interview and started work there the following week. This method of finding employment was typical for school leavers in those days most youngsters were able to choose their form of occupation and in many cases their place of work. How times have changed!

My starting wage was about £2 10s a week and I spent five happy years with the company before leaving for a 3d per hour increase in wage working for another company doing similar work.

When I left school at the age of 15 I got a job as an apprentice hairdresser at Jones’s the hairdressers of Royston. At first I did not do much but watch and pass curlers and make coffee.

Then I started to wash customers’ hair. You don’t do much until the second year then the exams start. I went to tech. for 3 years until I was qualified. My first wage was £1 11s 1d.

In 1968 I started training to be a nursery nurse. I worked 40 hours a week in a Day Nursery, usually 8 a.m. until 5 p.m. with 8 days a month at college. I was paid about £19 a month which I was allowed to keep if I bought my own clothes.

Mum always wanted to be a nurse. She left school at 16 and went straight onto a pre-nursing course. She only went to a secondary modern school and had to work very hard to get her ‘O’ levels to be accepted for S.R.N. training. Her very first salary was £11 10s for a whole month. Some of the girls mum went to school with and were very bright and passed their 11-plus actually never went on to the sort of jobs you expected them to have. She says she sees them working in shops and supermarkets, while the ones you expected to be doing those sort of jobs must also have worked very hard to get qualifications because they ended up getting better jobs than were expected, both financially and as regards prospects.

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I went to Wakefield Technical College for a two year course in secretarial work. For my first job I was paid about ÂŁ45 a month.

When it finally came to making my mind up about my future I decided that I wanted to work in an office; the alternatives being shop assistant or factory worker. I was fortunate to pass an exam which led to a two year commercial course studying typing, shorthand, etc. One or two of my friends went to Barnsley Technical College and they furthered their careers step by step by taking G.C.E. courses. Such courses are now a natural progression in comprehensive schools and the privilege of winning a place is not necessary.

There were concerns about those who were either unable or unwilling to take up what is now termed as vocational training or whose ambitions seemed inward looking and domestically inclined.

Many years ago when the majority of girls reached schoolleaving age they entered Domestic Service. A few stayed in the village but many went into the woollen towns e.g.

Bradford, Dewsbury , Huddersfield where local girls went into the mills. Often they (Royston girls) married and settled down in the districts where they worked. But even those who returned to Royston had had the experience of being away from home and of seeing the insides of other homes.

Nowadays, because of the high wages offered in the local factories many girls choose to work there, marry very young (about 18 yrs.) and settle down without having the experience of any life outside the village so that their outlook is restricted.

It seems unfortunate that when the School is trying to broaden and deepen their outlook their after-school life should narrow.

The School is trying to alleviate this problem by a. encouraging girls to train for work b. to attend Further Education Courses.

(The Youth Employment Officer was noted as giving useful talks to school leavers.)

(Miss Parker 1959).

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It was of course still considered that the man was the breadwinner and that on marriage the woman’s priority was home-making and the raising of the family. It was an attitude that was picked up by these young people.

Considered important for a boy to get a good job - many people felt that it did not matter for a girl to have a good job as she was expected to settle down, get married and look after the family.

Girls mainly wanted to get married and have a family and while they waited for the right man to come along anything that paid a wage would suffice.

Men and boys used to be favoured job-wise and wage-wise ...

It was expected that girls would leave school, get married, have a family. So for a woman to go after promotion was thought to be a waste of time - give the job to a man who would still be working at 65.

Women were expected to do certain types of jobs, never apply for jobs that were considered for men only (e.g.: construction industry, emergency services). They were generally paid less and rarely promoted over men and not thought of as needing a career, merely passing the time until they had a family.

There were chances of promotion but I suppose employers thought that women would leave to get married and start families and were, therefore, looking after their own interests.

Boys and men were usually given first chance when promotion was involved. Many factories would not pay the same wages even if women did exactly the same job as the men. Women were often employed as cheap labour and could only get jobs doing repetitive tasks.

Certain jobs were done by males and others by females. If a job could be done by either, males would be favoured. They were often paid more money for doing the same job as a woman. Men were favoured for promotion. Women frequently stopped working to have children and stayed at 41

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home to look after them. Maternity leave was unknown. It was thought that the woman’s place was in the home and her most important job was to cook and clean.

A girl , even with vocational qualifications, found that the ‘glass ceiling’, limiting advancement, was brushing her head.

But this was to be the generation that felt such impediments were not insurmountable - changes were being made.

Men and boys did seem to get the higher wage, and you always seemed to have a manager - never a manageress.

Boys and men were much more favoured; where I worked in local government no woman held a top post. All prominent positions were held by men, therefore they were paid more.

I have always worked in a position where I was paid the same rate as a man but I found men were favoured for promotion.

All the most senior positions were held by men but today (1989) women are starting to get equal status in promotion.

I worked for the Civil Service - we had equal pay, we were supposed to have equal promotion prospects but I never heard of a woman manager. Nowadays there are quite a few.

In the Civil Service where I worked, a majority of the employees were women who were on equal pay with men.

This, however, was unusual as most clerical jobs paid men more than women who were doing the same job. When I joined the Civil Service in 1966, any work which involved going out of the office was usually done by a man. Promotion prospects were better for men and all the top management posts were held by them. From the early 1970’s more women were promoted to the post of executive officer but the first time I had a female Higher Executive Officer was in 1977.

I think at one time promotion would have been given to a man rather than a woman whereas these days a woman has just as much chance of promotion. The same with wages, men were paid more then, but now in some cases women can earn more than a man.

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I did not really come across any discrimination at work because I was a secretary and there were not many boys doing that. I did notice that men were given more opportunities when I worked for Barclay’s Bank. They were encouraged to go for promotion but the girls usually got no further than the counters then. The wage varied according to qualifications rather than what sex you were. But it was always the girls who made the morning coffee and the afternoon tea - never the men!

To sum up.

In a lot of firms women were paid at a lower rate than men even though they would be doing the same work. I was lucky though, my rate of pay was the same as if a man had been doing the work. Girls were not usually given promotion for responsible jobs because they were expected to get married and cease employment when they had children; therefore employers were not prepared to “waste time” training girls who were not going to be with the firm for a lifetime. Women could be promoted when they had had their families and the children had grown up because they could then be relied upon to work for approximately 20 years until retirement. Today (1989) women still have to prove their worth but provided they have the ability, their sex is not a barrier to promotion. A lot of firms have changed their image and now advertise themselves as “equal opportunity” employers meaning that men and women have equal chances of gaining promotion.

Principal source of information A compilation of the memories provided by parents of older Church School pupils collected in 1989 and 1990 to bring real life experiences to the fictionalised settings of the How We Used To Live 1954 - 1970 YTV schools’ broadcasts.

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Memories of Steam Bernard Tinker I started work at Royston Motive Power depot on September 19 1961, I was twenty two and I had worked for six years in the mines. My father worked fifty two years in the pits and died from mining-related health problems after twelve months retirement. He died at six thirty a.m. as I came in from a night shift down the pit and seeing him die made my mind up that I was getting out of that environment.

Not long after that I went down to the loco sheds at Royston to ask for employment. I was asked some general knowledge questions which were not difficult then sent for a medical at Leeds which I passed and started work on 19th September 1961 at seven thirty a.m.

The date was all important as everything in the industry was based on seniority - last in first out. Even the times you signed on for a job when you were spare could be based on seniority date. If you were redundant you would have the choice of a nearer depot if you had the seniority - so you can see it had a great bearing on your career.

Progress through footplate life started as Engine Cleaner which entailed cleaning the big steam locos with oily rags quite a messy job. Then after passing an exam you became a Passed Cleaner which meant you could fire the locos when a vacancy was available due to sickness, holidays etc. The next stage was as a Booked Fireman when a full time vacancy occurred. Then, when there was demand, the next stage was Passed Fireman which entailed a quite lengthy oral, written and practical exam so you could become qualified to act as a driver when need arose.

The driver’s exam consisted of eight hours questions and answers followed next day by eight hours driving trains, with an inspector who could fail you anytime, it made the car driving test seem like a breeze. If you failed the train driver’s exam three times you were virtually out of a job and, as it 44

Memories of Royston

could take fifteen years to reach the position when you could take the exam, you can understand the type of pressure prospective drivers were under. It wasn’t just your job but your wife and family’s income that was under threat.

After becoming a Passed Fireman it was then a matter of waiting either for a vacancy for promotion at your own depot, through someone’s retirement, or moving away to another depot where an unfilled driving vacancy existed. This could cause ill feeling if your seniority beat someone who was already at that depot who hoped to get the vacancy.

I stayed at Royston until its closure in September 1971 when we were moved to vacancies at Healy Mills or Knottingley so I had ten happy years at Royston, six on steam and four on diesel. For efficiency and working environment the diesels were superior to steam but for interest and challenge the steamers were best. Diesels were either right or wrong but a poor performing steamer with good driving and firing could be coaxed to excel its own capabilities.

The firing of steam locos wasn’t just a matter of throwing in as much coal as possible. Each shovel full had to be placed on a firebox bed approximately four foot six inches wide by ten foot long, at the same time making sure the boiler water was kept at the correct level and steam pressure was kept between two hundred PSI and two twenty PSI. Plus sweeping and swilling the dusty footplate and observing signals and other problems that might occur on the fireman’s side and bringing them to the driver’s attention - there was never a dull moment. This was done at all hours of the day or night in fog, rain, wind, snow, red hot summer or bitter cold winter the job had to be kept going. When working on branch lines locos were often worked tender first with no protection for driver and fireman from the cab. Rain, wind and snow were driven into the cab making working conditions most unpleasant but the sense of beating the elements kept you going. It was not unusual for your eye lashes to freeze together on wet cold nights.

The shift pattern is difficult to describe AMs and PMs. AMs was any shift starting after one minute past midnight to one 45

Memories of Royston

minute before midday. PMs was any shift starting one minute after mid day to one minute before midnight. After thirty seven years on the footplate there was no hour or minute I had not signed on or off, or on any day of the week, or weekend, Christmas Day, New Years Day and any other holiday - even swapping my day off to get to my own wedding which took place on Monday March 6 1967.

Then it was back to work on Tuesday March 7.

Although we supposedly worked a basic eight-hour day, when things went wrong we just had to soldier on. Twelve hours on duty was not unusual, my longest shift lasted twenty three hours, the cause of this was a big derailment at Ferrybridge power station. I had just completed a ten hour shift when, on signing off, news broke of the derailment. As no one else was available I was asked if I would go off with the breakdown train to help clear the derailment because it was stopping the power station. As we were brought up to believe ‘keep the job going at all cost’ and now being a family man, I went off with the breakdown train and did another thirteen hours on top of the ten hours I had already done. (The extra money came in useful for my family).

The interesting work and the comradeship on the footplate meant that even long hours of overtime passed quickly but after a twelve hour night shift, staring into fog on a winter’s night, looking for paraffin lit signals it was like heaven getting into bed at ten am next morning. So, after all those years of starting work at two thirty am and all the odd hours I worked and after five years of retirement I am still getting used to sleeping regular hours. I often wake up at three am and think that it’s time to go to work. I suppose I was lucky when I think of all the wonderful sun rises and sunsets I have seen.

So after my thirty six years on the footplate I count myself lucky to have had such an interesting job with the dedicated workmates who, almost to a man, put keeping the railway running before their own personal desires. I don’t think they make people like those now - some might say it’s because they’ve more sense today - I don’t know, but I do know I wouldn’t swap my working days for theirs.

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On the Lane Jim Evison BEGINNINGS They are all gone now - those for whom “going on the Lane” was a statement of fact. There are very few remaining of the succeeding generation - those who saw the Lane become a road. We have been left with their memories of what it must have looked like: Midland Road was once Senior Lane and before that a bridle path. (born 1889) ...a country lane. It ran between fields bordered by hedges.

There were a few houses here and there. (1892) No streets and no houses hardly. Left hand side there were fields and trees. (1890) ... a cart track. Hedges at each side. Very few houses on left hand side of road from the canal to the Wells. (1881) ... a country lane ... When I was a girl I used to wait for the farmers coming on the lane with cart loads of turnips and when one dropped off I took it home because my mother could not afford much. They were very hard times then. (1898) I remember when old Matt Wilson had Jack Close as an orchard. (1893) So “going on the Lane” passed into common parlance and was picked up by each following generation. It is less common now but it has taken a full century - since the Midland Railway opened its new station in the summer of 1900 - for the phrase to work itself out of the community’s system. The new name was picked up officially very promptly. All the entries in the 1901 Kelly’s Directory are listed as Midland Road. The Royston Red Book of 1907, a local directory, is more ambivalent. The commercial advertisements are all up to date (except for that of G. A. Pickering who advertises that his Well Hill chemist shop is on the corner of Senior Lane) but the list of private residents uses the old term. The new urban district council was equally of two minds; it used Midland Road as early as the minutes for 1897 but thereafter Senior Lane kept cropping up well into the new decade.

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But then Senior Lane had been there for a long time. ... another close called the fflatts butting on the highway leading to Pontefract on the North ... is an extract from the Glebe Terrier (inventory of lands for the vicar’s use) of 1684 and the self same Flatts (where the library now is) is shown on the Tithe Apportionment map of 1845 as still in the possession of the incumbent as is Hall field Close, another of the church’s 1684 possessions, where the Youth Club once stood. Originally the Lane would have been a track through rough pasture on the edge of the slope that now leads to the park. Then when the land was brought into more systematic cultivation it became the access to fields such as Jack Close, Well field, Pick hill, Wheat Butts, Mill gate Close, Dove Hills, Goodly Croft, Robin Hood as well as the two named above - many of the names familiar to Royston folk in a different context - and the road to the seat of regional administration at Pontefract castle.

When it became Senior Lane is not known. It must have had a very local significance for on official documents such roads were always the highway to some town of importance. It may have been named for the Seniors, a Royston family of the 17th to 19th centuries, as suggested by Les Edmonds. Mr. Wilson, the council surveyor (born 1872) told the Church School in a letter of 1965 that it could have been because Guy Senior’s steam wagons delivered their loads of bricks for the building of Jonathan Ball’s properties in the 1880’s along the Lane. However, that is how village legends are born for it is named Senior Lane on the first ordnance survey maps produced from the 1840’s. But we are given a unique memory of the early housing developments at the far end of the Lane (see below).

It would have been one of the lanes along which National School pupils were absented to tend cattle grazing the wayside herbage. That must have been a lonely job, as many agricultural occupations were, for which the excellent views southwards would have been scant compensation. Jeffrey’s map of 1770 stops the lane short as soon as it has breasted the slope leading up from the Wells and takes the road to Havercroft round by Ellis Laithe. This could be the result of 48

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negligent surveying or engraving but the gradient of Lund Hill was always difficult. This obstacle had been exacerbated by the humped back road bridge that the Barnsley Coal Canal erected on the edge of a steep downward slope.

It was bad for horses to pull things over the bridge. They kept a trace horse to help take the coal carts over. A boy did that all day long and the horse was put in a stable at night near the railway station. (born 1906) This would be at the time when the Co-op steam wagon delivering to the Ryhill branch after Royston went via Cold Hiendley rather than attempt the double slope - and that was after the Monckton Company had had to build a new road at considerable expense before plant could be delivered to the new colliery sinkings. On a more aesthetic note, W. S. Banks, while walking the district in the late 1860’s, preferred to approach Royston from Felkirk via Shafton for the magnificent views westwards from Lidgate Lane. A little more traffic would use the Lane after the Whincover settlement was established in the 1840’s as evidenced by the fatal donkey cart accident in 1868, perhaps an indication of its uneven or rutted surface, but at this time the unloading point for canal cargoes appears to have been at the Hope and Anchor on Cudworth Lane.

SENIOR LANE 1880 - 1900 a new community established Whincover would enjoy its riparian solitude for barely three decades before its north eastern skyline was disturbed by the sinkings of the Monckton Main Coal Company at the top of Lund Hill. Soon it was to be joined by houses on Cross Lane, around the canal bridge and then on Senior Lane itself. Robin Hood Place with its 1880 datestone and Ball’s Row were amongst the earliest to be built. There was a start to building at the other end of the lane, too. Nos. 33-39, Moss Rose Cottage and its neighbour (51-53) next to the chapel date from this earliest phase of development. The demand for land and property had arrived but the depressed economy of these years made speculators wary as the following sale notices show.

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18th June 1881: ... just over 1 acre 2 roods of market garden facing Senior Lane, reserve £450, withdrawn.

6 August 1881: ...1 dwelling house and shop fronting Senior Lane, 4 houses fronting the same lane and 2 dwelling houses fronting an intended new street. Annual rental stated to be £91..4..0d. The site which includes half the intended new street is 723 sq. yds. Withdrawn at £750. (Barnsley Chronicle) Yet in the Census taken that spring 10 houses were in the course of construction along Senior Lane and it was obvious to local government officials that a new community was being created that was distinct from the original village.

20th March 1880: extended building in that part of Roystone nearest Monckton.

20th January 1881: a large number of houses are being built in Senior Lane.

21st January 1882: the colliery hamlet on Senior Lane. (B. Chron) Some of the 1881 reports of the slack activity in the property market may have been about Jonathan Ball’s earliest ventures into raising capital. The economic situation did not seem to deter him much as he was active in property development for much of this decade being well known for his famous long terrace which was finally completed two years after the first section was built.

30th June 1883: 13 houses erected in Senior Lane for Mr. Jonathan Ball. The 27 workmen were given a supper to celebrate the occasion. (B. Chron.)

As trade quickened so did the growth of Senior Lane. In 1881 135 people were living in 21 houses; ten years later 806 inhabitants would say that their 134 houses had a Senior Lane address (there were another 150 in the 20 houses that made up Wharf cottages and Cutts Street). There are contemporary descriptions of these hastily constructed houses - none complimentary- but they are not particularly about those on Senior Lane. Few among the contributors of reminiscences specify their location. The two that do, for Senior Lane and Poplar Terrace in the last decade of the 19th century, speak for most.

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2 rooms up, 2 down. No taps, water from well. (After the first water mains had been laid down) in the summer water used to run dry, had to carry water from Guiseley well. Water heated from fire for washing and bathing, tin bath. Outside toilet. No gas. Rent 3s 6d or 4s 0d a week.

9th May 1891: plans for 6 houses for Hornby referred back; he must clean out his Senior Lane sump which is overflowing with sewage.

7th March 1896: Bray’s back yards are a disgrace being unpaved and unfinished. (Comment: like Royston altogether unfinished). But all the district is alike. Builders leave the surfaces unfinished. (B.Chron.)

These houses had been built without any consideration of mains services in what is now termed green field sites for incomers desperately in need of accommodation.

12th June 1880: At Robin Hood Terrace (Place?) a number of the houses were occupied before the conveniences were built and have drainage that cannot be approved.

6th August 1881: The houses on Senior Lane are ready for occupation and there are fears of fever in the unusually hot weather.

10th June 1882: On Senior Lane 11 houses have no outlet for their sewage; 20 drain into an open ditch near the roadside. (B. Chron.)

Even when a rudimentary sewerage system had been laid down it could not keep pace with the continued growth of the village.

7th March 1896: The Senior Lane sewage is flowing into the canal. The sewage farm is not purifying the sewage. It is back to the beginning. (B. Chron.)

Nature, which had adequately watered the small agricultural community, was expected by the speculative builders to do the same for a rapidly expanding industrial township.

11th February 1888: Roystone is dependent on its wells.

The sandstone has been tapped all along Senior Lane but the supply of water is very limited because of the thinness of the rock ... mining subsidence has cracked the impervious bed of rock.

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6th June 1891: There is a great want of water in Roystone.

There are 30 houses in Senior Lane with approximately 200 inhabitants rented at 5s 0d a week whose only water is from the town well and that is oversubscribed. (B.Chron.)

The occupants of the new houses at the west end of Senior Lane were in competition with residents of the older properties.

1st October 1892: Mr. Buckroyd who lives near to the well at the Co-op Cottages comes home from work at 10 p.m. and waits until midnight to collect his household’s water and finds women still waiting there. (B. Chron.)

At the other end of the Lane Cutts’ well served the houses there and at Whincover, but by March 1894 it was being contaminated by a cesspool and was ordered to be closed.

The danger to health was obvious and it is surprising that the village did not experience more outbreaks like the fatal fever epidemic of the autumn of 1886.

25th September: The typhoid fever is spreading at Roystone. It is centred on Cross Lane and Senior Lane (Ball’s properties) in houses of previous notoriety. The water from the well is good but is contaminated from above by foul rinsings. (B. Chron.)

The well was closed in mid November.

A new community set apart by three quarters of a mile from the old village centre should have presented a golden opportunity for anyone with a commercial flair to offer for sale the basic necessities of life. Times, however, were not auspicious. The coal trade was stagnant, money was tight and the new population was not settled. The 1881 Census lists only Joseph Webster, grocer and beer retailer, at the new end of Senior Lane. Webster was, like C. J. Yardley at the west end of the village, provisioning Royston folk right from the start of the colliery era. But while the Websters did not expand like Yardley was to do, they traded for far longer at their distinctively shaped shop just beyond the canal bridge.

Webster’s shop was a chandler’s shop and a beer offlicence ... it sold corn, horse powders, tallow candles, everything needed by the boatmen ... in those days it was a 52

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very busy canal ... if the boat came through the bridge empty they often got stuck, the bridge was so low. (born 1906) Even in the 1891 Census only four more tradespeople are listed. Apart from one butcher, Allen Beaumont, the rest were like Webster - grocers or shopkeepers, among them Samuel Bray. Alfred Briggs was also a greengrocer as well as one of the village carriers to Barnsley. In the late 1880’s the G.P.O. felt that there was a large enough population in this part of the village to warrant the fitting of a letterbox at the end of Ball’s Row where it remained with Victoria’s royal cypher until it was changed sometime in the 1970’s. ... a wall box on Senior lane is cleared at 5. 15 p.m. (Kelly’s Directory 1889; in the 1897 edition the time has been put back to 6. 55 p.m.)

At the Wells end of Senior Lane the Barnsley British Cooperative Society had opened its Royston branch in October 1888, a sure sign that the new mining community had established itself and further back down the lane George Henry Gardam had started his shopkeeping career whilst still working as a colliery checkweighman, his wife minding the shop.

When the 1891 Census was taken the coal industry was enjoying the first period of prosperity in two decades. Wage increases were there for the asking and Royston was about to witness the commercial growth that it had been for so long denied. This sudden expansion at the beginning of the 1890’s was the wonder of the age for the older natives of Royston for whom the new Senior Lane, as viewed from the top end of High Street, was unfamiliar territory.

The great growth of Roystone appears to be in an eastward direction commencing at Senior lane ... and going to the Midland Railway and Monckton Main colliery. Two directors of the Midland Railway have just been inspecting the site of the proposed new station which is to take the place of the old Royston and Notton station ... (Old Roystonian in B. Chron.

8th April 1893) 53

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In the Kelly’s Directory for that year there are only five tradespeople listed with a Senior Lane address and two others who neglected to provide one. One was F. W. Andrews, draper who like Webster and Yardley was to become a household name in the village. Care must be taken with Directories because entry was not obligatory but it is obvious that from the middle of the 1890’s Senior Lane’s economy was expanding.

There were 26 entries for 1897. As well as an ever increasing demand from new migrants, there was a resurgent coal industry recovering from the long Lockout of 1893 providing the wherewithal for the breadwinners to purchase those extras that the late Victorian consumer revolution was introducing even into smaller townships. In 1893 a newsagent was listed; in 1897 there were two glass and china dealers (one of them Frederick Winderbank), a fishmonger, a tailor, a confectioner, a hairdresser and a watchmaker.

Social changes were noticed. The leisure time of the working man was provided for.

26 April 1890: Monckton Club opened. There has been a long felt want for such a building in the social life of the village.

The entire cost of the enterprise has been borne by the colliery company. (B. Chron.)

At the western end of the Lane a better standard of housing was being built by this time. Dr. Eskrigge was resident in 1891 and after the opening of the Board Schools in 1896 there was a tendency for teachers and commercial people to settle there.

Bray, Winderbank and Gardam along with Isaac Guy, bootmaker by 1893, originally came to the village to work in the mines and they represent the vanguard of a trend whereby colliers with an innate commercial instinct and an understanding of the wants and needs of their own kind were able to turn into small business men when the opportunity arose. This might have been the result of injury or more farseeingly an insurance against the same, or a provision against declining physical powers and a reduced earning capacity. Samuel Bray was a member of the extended Ward family which included Arthur Davies, general dealer, Samuel Ward, greengrocer (1897), and Ezekiel Ellis, shopkeeper (1901), who all turned from mining to commercial activities.

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MIDLAND ROAD 1900 - 1925 an urban centre evolves.

The opening of the Midland Railway’s new station and the consequent altering of the name of the Lane could not have been more timely. The Lane was becoming the main thoroughfare to canal, railway and colliery. It was not yet fully built up but there were building plans aplenty during the first decade of the new century. Roads and streets lying at right angles to it were being constructed. Alfred Street and Poplar Terrace were amongst the first in the early 1890’s and an embryonic Rowland Street and Dove Hill may be noticed on the 1891 ordnance survey map. In the 1907 Royston Red Book there were 177 households listed as being on Senior Lane yet Millgate Street (80), Rowland Street (39), Poplar Terrace (30), and Dove Hill (24) had a combined total of 173.

3rd April 1900: Monckton Main Coal Co. produced plans for 25 cottages on Senior Lane.

8th April 1902: approved a new street off Senior Lane for J. Ball.

7th April 1903: Plans for 12 houses in ——— Street for Harvey approved. (the space was filled in at a later date with the name Millgate) 6th September 1904: Coles’ plans for 2 houses in Godley Street approved.

3rd October 1905: plans approved for 10 houses in North and West Roads for Oldroyd.

12th June 1906: Ball presents plans for a new street off Midland Road.

4th October 1910: approved 2 houses in Filey Avenue.

(Urban District Council Minute Book) Well established business men were expanding their commercial and property interests.

6th May 1902: approved the plans for a shop in Senior Lane for C. J. Yardley.

6th April 1904: plans approved for a new hotel near Royston Station for Fernandes.

3rd October 1905: In April Webster wanted permission to erect a wooden lock up shop but was refused.

7th June 1910: approved 3 cottages and 2 shops for the Barnsley British Co-operative Society on Midland Road.

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1st September 1908: approved a residence on Midland Road for Mr. F. W. Andrews (Hafod House).

7th March 1911: approved 2 houses and shops on Midland Road for Andrews.

(U.D.C. minutes) Another name that was to be part of Royston’s commercial life for the next fifty years arrived in the latter part of this decade.

5th March 1907: 2 houses and shop for J. Madeley, Midland Road, approved.

5th March 1912: approved 5 houses for Glew Bros. at the top end of Madeley’s new street.

6th May 1913: approved 6 houses in Empire Street for John Madeley.

1st September 1914: approved 16 houses in Victoria Road for Madeley.

Midland Road in its early days was most succinctly described as being A dirt road with flagstone pavements (born 1899), muddy in winter and dusty in summer (1895).

Other eyewitness accounts amplify this Flags for pavements, dross granite for roads (1893).

Roads were a stone which we called dross. This was laid and rolled just like tarmac but not having the tar to bind it it came up easily (1904).

The traffic was Horses with coal carts and drays, ponies with traps (1892).

Later came The Co-operative steam traction engine with steel tracks on the wheels (1906).

Progress brought difficulties 3rd September 1901: damage to the highways by the Barnsley Brewery Co. traction engine reported.

3rd February 1903: harm (to hydrants) caused by Micklethwaite’s traction engine 2nd March 1914: Co-op dealing with the damage to the kerb and channel at Monckton and also the paper and straw litter.

(U.D.C. minutes) 56

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These road giants could certainly draw a second glance but the Lane was throng with more humble forms of transport and commercial activity.

Horse and drays used to come in all the streets from Barnsley and Wakefield. Pea and pie carts used to come. Meat vans too. You could have your draught beer brought to your home (in 9 gallon barrels, 2d a pint) by Tetley’s Brewery (1896.)

Calico, flannel and cotton patch man; block salt man; organ grinder and monkey; scouring stone off rag and bone man; pikelet man, hot pea man (1902).

(Block salt 4 1/2d a block [1881]; scouring stone collected after digging up down Dove Hill [1899].)

Knife and scissor grinders, pedlars (selling buttons, needles, shoelaces, thimbles, cotton, mending wool) came to the door.

Organ grinders visited the streets and occasionally violin players and singers (1892).

Window menders, tinkers who would mend a pan or kettle were common (1902).

Tripe and cow heel; muffins; hokey-pokey man (a form of ice cream) (1904).

Toy windmill sellers (1893).

Along the street could also be seen Dr. Eskrigge walking on his rounds at 6 o’clock in the morning. I remember Dr. Pare coming to Royston; he used to go on his rounds on a bicycle (1896).

But not for long !

5th January 1915: Approved plans for ... a garage for Dr. Pare (U.D.C.) And Dr. Eskrigge had his Studebaker.

The bicycle had been instrumental in increasing the mobility of working people allowing them to explore job opportunities, make healthier use of their leisure time and broaden their horizons generally. But in its early days it was a novelty and one Royston citizen was not slow to take advantage.

Saw first safety bicycle about 1895; Benny Barrett’s halfpenny and penny rides (1885).

Benjamin Barrett’s three wheeled bicycles [sic.] on Midland Road, halfpenny an hour from Griffith’s shop to Monckton Club up and down - we thought it was a great treat (1896, 1899, 1904).

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Neither the traffic congestion nor the state of the road surface could have been so bad.

In fairness it must be stated that the authorities were not blind to the difficulties caused by the building works and the consequent growth in the volume of traffic as well as the growth in mechanical means of propulsion on this erstwhile country lane.

30th November 1896: Oldroyd required to make plans for the widening of Senior Lane from the Challenger houses to the end of Hornby’s property.

3rd June 1903: Tender drawn up for the asphalting of 565 yards of footpath in Midland Road.

A well known bottleneck was already causing concern.

3rd January 1907: Webster offers land for the widening of the canal bridge.

4th July 1911: To arrange a conference with the Monckton Company and the Aire and Calder Navigation to further consider the matter of the canal bridge.

(U.D.C. minutes) Only those born before the mid 1890’s remember Paraffin oil lamps lit by the lamp lighter with a pole (1896).

4th September 1897: Isaac Guy appointed lamplighter at £1 per week. Lamps to be lit from dusk until 10 p.m.

2nd November 1897: Midland Road lamps to remain lit all night until the end of February.

The rest remember the gas lamps.

4th September 1906: Midland Road is to be lighted with incandescent lights.

3rd September 1907: Street lighting is to commence on Sept 6th. Tacey to light Midland Road at 13s 0d a week ... with 1s 0d bonus if there are no complaints.

Like the problem of litter at the Co-op, vandalism is not new to the village 12 October 1899: To issue posters warning against the breaking of street lamps So little effect did this have, that on 6th November 1900: To print posters offering 5s 0d reward for information leading to the conviction of persons damaging street lamps. (U.D.C. minutes) Exactly four years later the reward was raised to £1.

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With 77 businesses listed as being situated along the Lane by 1912 it had become a continuation of the Wells as the shopping centre of the village responding to the building that had developed at its eastern end. In the generation before the First World War two stores dominated shopping in Royston.

Yardley’s was our main shop, then the Co-op (1898).

But, because it long outlived its rival, there are only recollections of shopping at the Co-op.

One Co-op. at the Wells. Clogs, scrubbing brushes, all manner of working tackle hanging from the ceiling. You had to take a clean pillowcase for the flour (1893).

Flour, wheat, corn, dog biscuits in chutes in the flour room.

We used to take linen bags to carry the flour in. Big hanging scales. Hams and bacon hung up, also brushes, buckets (1904).

Mr. Skidmore, the Co-op’s grocery manager, through long practice, had become extraordinarily fast at reckoning up the order for a customer. If the items, when totalled, came to an odd halfpenny he always asked, “Will you take candles or matches?” - to the value of the halfpenny (1902).

The first shop that comes to mind is the Co-op. at the far end of Midland Road. It had large wooden counters. At one end the butter was sold. It came in a barrel. One of the assistants used to stand and cut and weigh it. I can remember my mother being given a tiny bit of butter to taste to see if the flavour was satisfactory. The sugar was weighed and put into blue bags. Cheese was cut and wrapped while you waited.

There was no cash out - the lady assistant would count up out loud; when she got stuck she would repeat the last amount over a couple of times until she had added the next item on (1949).

The birth year is not a misprint but an indicator of how, once established, there was very little change to shopping on Midland Road for the best part of half a century. The personal service is an abiding memory over the years but one change had happened.

Mostly male assistants and always courteous (1896).

The Meadow Dairy shop always delighted my eyes for its brass - the weights and scales; the patted butter; the clean assistants and their wonderful ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ (1910).

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Meadow, together with that other multiple grocers Melias, were amongst the best examples of the change that was taking place in retailing, especially after the First World War. Found in the smallest of towns they sold good but standardized produce at a price most working people could afford, a trend pioneered to some extent by the co-operative movement. The first multiples had appeared in Royston in the middle of the first decade of the twentieth century with the coming of the purveyors of frozen meat - the longest lasting being Eastman’s.

The Globe Tea Co. and Hunters the Teamen, the precursors of Meadow, arrived in the village about 1910. In another branch of retailing Westnedge’s, Andrews’ and Madeley’s with their ready made footwear and clothing were retailers of the new mass produced goods that consigned the village bootmaker, tailor and dressmaker to history.

Other establishments displayed furnishings or the specialised apparatus of their trade which in those less knowing times were always a source of fascination.

Pawnbrokers with three brass balls hung over the doorway.

Chemist’s shop with big, fancy shaped bottles filled with coloured liquid in window. Pork butchers with sides of bacon and ham hanging from the ceiling (1899).

Some butcher’s shops had steelyards to weigh with (1904).

Andrews’, the drapers, and the iron stove in the middle of the shop floor (1906).

8th June 1909: The factory inspector found that Madeley’s shop had no means of conveying the fumes from the gas stove (U. D.C.) The above mentioned shops were establishments that could rival any to be found in the suburbs of neighbouring towns in size and appearance of premises, in their range of goods and the number of their employees. They were financially sound and transactions, except for certain favoured customers, were strictly cash based. Like all working class townships Royston’s streets had a number of small front room and corner shops, especially on the side roads, but on the Lane itself there were 9 tradespeople in 1901 and 12 in 1912 who described themselves simply as ‘shopkeeper’. To a child some seemed a forbidding place to enter but this description might be indicative of trade in the post 1920 depression.

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Some shops were hard to enter because of the stock but some of it never got sold. Things out of date. Dark, dingy shops were the vogue. Cheap and shoddy clothes could be purchased at the ‘pop shop’ (1910).

One was different.

At the Wells ...there was a wooden shop which sold sweets, etc. (1897).

A shop on wheels stood on the Wells belonging to Mrs. Hirst. In about 1907 or early 1908 I saw it moved by horses to a new site near where the public library is. It remained on the new site until after the Kaiser’s war (i.e. post 1918) (1902).

Most small shops were well run and were undoubtedly ‘little goldmines’. A number were run by ex-colliers as mentioned above (James Eady of Millgate Street joined their ranks in the early years of the new century). All the family had to pitch in to help.

My parents had a small shop and we used to walk to Staincross to fetch goods to sell before going to school. (1890).

Still in my school days my mother got a little lock up fish and chip shop at the top of Dove Hill. Come from school at 12 o’clock my brother and I had a bucket of potatoes to peel each before we could have our dinners and get back to school for 1.30. Fish used to come from Staple & Cliff’s of Barnsley. My mother bought it for the shop at 1s 6d a stone, one extra with every stone you bought. (1896).

That cheap, nourishing working class standby, fish and chips, were early arrivals in the new colliery community, although the first fried fish dealer did not appear in the directory until 1901.

The fish and chip shop of our correspondent seems to have been well managed. Yet there were others, often dealing with the poorer end of the market, who were not so scrupulous.

There was a fish and chip hut on Midland Road (1893).

Complaints about a fried fish and chip stall erected in Royston without approval. It is a wooden shed on wheels with a brick oven operating on Saturday nights to sell fried fish and chipped potatoes. It is becoming a bigger nuisance by the week with its potential for offensive smells. (Wakefield Express 22nd Oct. & 19th Nov. 1892) 61

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A chipped potato and fried fish dealer, who is also a miner is leaving fish heads all over the place at Royston. (W. Exp. 8th Feb. 1896) 7th February 1905: Thomas Rogers has erected an unapproved fish shop on Midland Road.

5th September 1905: The Nuisance Inspector seized fish belonging to a hawker, William Rollinson. The doctor condemned it.

7th September 1909: Grimley and Grayson have been using well water to clean fish. The water is impure and the well would be closed were it to be used for domestic purposes.

(U.D.C.) The small corner or mid-terrace shops were patronized by those who would not dream of stepping over the threshold of an Andrews’ or a Yardley’s - the improvident, the impoverished, the underpaid. They went to shops that dealt with the split packet, the pennyworth in a paper twist, the broken biscuit, the scraps of ham - and something in the book.

(Spent up by Tuesday [1893]).

A story told by one correspondent who dated it to 1898 vividly illustrates this, even though it might be apocryphal: A boy found 6d; he spent it at the shop with his mother.

They got half a loaf 1d, 2 ozs butter 1 1/2d, cheese 1d, tea 1d, jam 1/2d, sugar 3/4d, milk 1/4d. She was a widow with 8 children and they all had a meal.

Even without the benefit of such a windfall we have an idea of the week’s usual grocery bill.

Same grocery bill each week 10 to 12 shillings (1893).

Could get a week’s groceries for 4 people for about 8 shillings (1904).

There were those whose poverty was so apparent and plight so desperate that they had no scruples about resorting to uncle’s.

During the first decade there were three pawnbroker’s shops. One at the Wells, one at the bottom of North Road and one up Millgate Street. This was owned by a Mr. Wynn and the other two by Mr. McLintock. Goods pawned could be redeemed for 4d plus the sum loaned, within a month. The 62

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public pawned from Monday to Saturday paying the full 4d for sums up to £1. Goods not redeemed within 12 months were forfeited and the windows of these shops had a large number of forfeited watches, chains and wedding rings, etc. displayed (1902).

6th August 1907: plans approved for house and shop for McLintock, Midland Road.

2nd February 1909: A.J.Wynn & Son, Pogmoor, granted a pawnbroker’s certificate.

7th December 1909: McLintock to put a transparent face on the clock on his premises; the council will fit the clock and pay for the gas to illuminate the face.

(U.D.C.) To the last correspondent (1902) the weekly payment was only one stage more respectable than the pawnshop.

Many of the larger things like furniture or clothing were bought on weekly payments. By going to Barnsley one could escape the stigma of having things on the “Chukee” as it was called - and the stigma was very real at that time.

Others would disagree.

For clothes various firms came to the door each week and you traded with reliable firms. My parents traded with Pearce of Wakefield (1896).

There was activity on Midland Road until well into the evening in the era of unregulated business hours.

On Saturdays I was lucky to be allowed to leave at 8 p.m.

The shop was open until 10 o’clock. Some did not close until 11 p.m. on Saturdays (1895).

Most shops 8 a.m. to 8 p.m.; on Saturdays my wife worked from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. This was for 8 shillings a week for 2 years. Then very slowly she worked up to £1 per week at 21 years of age (1904).

Open until 7 p.m. weekdays and 11 p.m. Saturdays; Thursday half day closing (1897).

Open all hours, could go to the back door any time because of the competition to get as much of the small amount of money available as they could. (1904).

People could not pay until probably teatime Saturday when father brought home (what was left in some cases) the money (1910).

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Still open at 10 p.m. or as long as there was business to be done. It became necessary to close at 8 p.m. during the (1914-18) war. The law was regarded as an imposition at the time and both public and shopkeepers protested (1902).

The 1907 Red Book indicates that the Post Office (recently moved to Midland Road) was open for business from 7 a.m. to 8 p.m. during the week - as well as from 8 to 10 on Sunday mornings!

Saturday evening had a vibrancy of its own as shoppers and revellers intermingled along the Lane.

Bought the Sheffield Green ‘Un on Saturday night, 1d each, for the football. Nearly everybody bought one. Midland Road used to be packed with people, like being at a football match (1896).

It was a situation recognized by the council.

7th October 1913: The street lights are not to be turned out until midnight on Saturday nights 7th April 1914: The street lighting is to be turned off except for the next four Saturdays.

There are mentions of the Salvation Army band playing on the Wells; shoppers going for the teatime trains to pick up bargains at the local markets and then returning about 9 p.m.

In 1903 approval had been given to build the Midland Road Working Men’s Club. By 1912 the Empire had been built and in September 1914 work started on the “new” Empire which was soon named the Palace. The mining villages were on the circuits of itinerant entertainers who provided a welcome if gaudy break from the ordinariness of the daily routine There was a travelling magic lantern show in the years before 1910/1911 (1897); it was owned by J. Redfern (1888); a wooden cinema, used to come and stop about 3 months (1896); in a big tent opposite to where the Palace now is (1904, 1906).

Visiting circuses pitched in the Ring o’ Bells field but the travelling theatre was to be found on the Lane.

5th November 1907: Ellis complains about the rating of his field let for the travelling theatre and other purposes (U.D.C.).

A travelling theatre, Garrett’s, came to stay for a month every year. The plays were East Lynne, Silver King, Sign of the Cross, Murder at the Red Barn, Red Riding Hood, 64

Memories of Royston

Cinderella, Puss in Boots, Aladdin (1892).

Had the site in a field where the Central Garage is now.

They stayed for a few weeks; in fact the pianist stayed behind and married a local girl (1906).

7th December 1909: A complaint has been lodged about the language and the conduct of the people attending the travelling theatre in Godley Street (U.D.C.).

There would seem to have been good pickings for such itinerants from the earliest days of the colliery village. The schedules for the 1891 Census show a couple who termed themselves travelling actor and travelling actress in lodgings in New Street while the caravan occupant who was parked along Lee Lane considered himself a circus proprietor.

Children went to see a magic lantern show at the Mission Room (West St.) belonging to the church (1892).

The religious bodies were relatively late arrivals on the Lane.

No provision, as with so much else that was not considered essential to housing the incomers, had been made to accommodate them. A house had been set aside for Primitive Methodist worship on Monckton Row and that congregation had moved to its purpose built chapel (later the Youth Club) in 1903. The Church of England followed suit with the Mission Room in 1907 and a year later the Salvation Army was making plans to move from their position on Well Hill to their present Midland Road site. As the reminiscence suggests these buildings provided a social as well as a religious purpose.

Between the Monckton Chapel and the S. A. Citadel was the most urbanized area of Royston, a microcosm of any town in the industrialized areas of the kingdom. The men had their two clubs and all the male social activities associated with them; the halls of the places of worship to some extent provided the same for their children and women folk. In times of need they combined the compassion and practicality that were the tenets of their creed.

The 1912 Miners’ Strike (for a national minimum wage) is remembered for the soup provided by the Salvation Army (1902).

I and my brothers went to the Miners’ Institute (Monckton Chapel) for a bowl of soup - to be eaten on the premises so that parents could not have it. The poverty caused by these strikes was shocking (1904).

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In little more than a generation the Lane had changed out of all recognition. Along it could be seen two places of worship, two workingmen’s clubs, two co-operative stores, two theatre/cinemas and one school with accommodation for nearly 900 pupils of all ages. There were about eighty trade, craft or professional people who could feed you, clothe and shod you, trim your hair, sell you stamps and newspapers, furnish your house, light or decorate it, insure you, medicate you, extract your teeth and fit your dentures, bring you into the world or bury you. The Lane itself was justification for Royston’s urban district status. It had been gained at a price.

As both ends of the Lane slowly came together it lost the green fields and view southwards in exchange for a barrier of bricks, mortar and glass. But not completely; like other urban centres the Lane had its playground. The field, where the travelling shows were to be found, was the preferred site of an authorized recreation ground when the council could not countenance the use of the school playground out of hours as had been tried at Worsborough.

12th July 1910: An agreement with Ezekiel Ellis for the use of the Wheat Butts field from the removal of grass until October 31st.

19th April 1911:To ask Carr Fletcher if he will let his field called the Wheat Butts for recreational purposes.

But it was a facility not always appreciated.

2nd August 1910: Some boys stayed late and robbed the neighbouring gardens; the police have been informed.

2nd May 1911: Notices to be put up against dangerous games.

After the First War the need for outlets for creative activity were acknowledged by the Miners’ Welfare scheme. The council was asked to send representatives to a meeting at the New Monckton Collieries in July 1922. One of the suggestions was for a recreation ground for Royston.

13th August 1923: The Council to negotiate with Archer for the purchase of land for a recreation ground, etc. The council would be responsible for its upkeep if it were open to and enjoyed by the general public. (U.D.C.)

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And so the story of the Lane has been brought to within the bounds of living memory and those who witnessed it will be able to record the next chapter. It will be one of mixed fortunes. The ensuing years have not treated the Lane kindly.

How it would have developed from 1914 had there been no world wars and trade depression is open to conjecture. Yet up to about 1965 it maintained the range of trades that had established themselves during that first generation of growth and which could provide for most of the needs of its shoppers.

It had a decade to enjoy the consumer boom after the abandonment of wartime and austerity restrictions until the local collieries were marked for closure under Lord Robens.

But at the same time changes were occurring in retailing and population mobility and these have proved to be the undoing of more communities than Royston. However, the Lane is still alive and forever changing. With its great length and long history The Lane has been a key player in Royston’s development - so who, in their wisdom, decided to name the new, short access spur to Kwik-Save and The Paddocks as The Lane?

Sources The reminiscences of Royston residents born between 1881 and 1910 were collected at the Church School in 1971 for a project on everyday life in the village 1896-1914. Two booklets were printed and some survive. Time ran out and plans for a third were abandoned so this is the first time that these particular memories have been published.

The other major sources of information, the Royston U.D.C. minutes, the Barnsley Chronicle and the Directories, can be consulted at the Local Studies and Archive Dept. at Barnsley Central Library. The Royston Branch Library has useful information too.

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MIDLAND ROAD Where you could once find everything but the candlestick maker.

Who needed to go to Barnsley or Wakefield to do their shopping? In the mid twentieth century you could buy everything you wanted in Royston. George Cutts with the help of the Royston History Group has been looking at the shops on Midland road and comparing today with the 1930s 40s and 50s (Written up, Autumn 2001).

The shops on Midland Road have changed hands many times since I was a lad in the 1930s and a lot of them have ceased to exist. Take what was the chemist at the Wells for instance, I remember when it was Pickering’s who were followed by Mr Bunniss, Mr Hague and Mr Chetter. It became a shop for children’s clothing - shoes and socks for all ages. These days it sells postcards, tools, newspapers and even has a billiard table for teenagers to play pool on.

Continuing from the Wells on the left of Midland Road there was Andrew’s drapery store selling ladies’ dresses, stockings etc, it became a cafe and now sells rugs, carpets and vacuum cleaners. We spent our Saturday pennies at Newton’s sweets and confectionery, later to become Holland’s then Pickerings, and we called it the tuck shop. More recently it was owned by Mr Millington but has now shut down. There was the gas and electricity showroom which became a bicycle and tool shop and is now a fancy and party dress shop.

At the junction of Rowland Street was Barnard’s shop selling gramophones, pianos, piano accordions, records, sheet music and a lot of other things. At the other side of the junction was an off licence which sold beer, pop, wine etc but eventually closed to open again recently under the name of Matty’s. Just up Rowland Street was Joe Eady’s shop which sold fruit, vegetables, sweets and pop, Joe also had a market stall at the top of Park View. In the first house in the second block of houses, was Schofield’s fish and chip shop where I called for my supper when I came out of the Palace picture house.

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The shop at the left hand side of Millgate Street is now Austerberry’s fish and chip shop but it was a cake and bun shop, as we called it. Later it became an electrical goods and vacuum cleaner shop. On the opposite side of Millgate Street was Rushton’s selling fruit, vegetables, flowers, and wreaths, it was taken over by Rileys who sold the same things. The shop is now closed down.

Then there was the barber’s. For gentlemen only - children by appointment! The barber was Mr Senior, if any gentleman wanted shaving then Mrs Senior lathered his face and Mr Senior shaved him in between cutting other customers’ hair.

When Mr Senior died Mr Ambrose Emery took the shop, he was a Salvationist and played the euphonium in the band.

Ambrose would go to people’s houses to cut their hair and shave them if they were disabled or bedridden.

Another sweet shop, Griffith’s also sold, postcards, magazines, newspapers, it is now called Royston News. The next three shops, now a cafe, second hand furniture and the Westminster Bank were the Barnsley British Co-operative Society - butcher, chemist and drapery respectively. The Coop chemist department became a gym then a second hand furniture shop. The drapery department was Pollard’s who sold sweets and chocolate now it is a bank.

Where Jackson’s general store is now, there was Madeley’s, Mr Madeley drove the pit ambulance from the garage across the road which is now the British Legion Headquarters. Later Mr Madeley went to live on Station Road where he had a fish and chip shop. I remember this because my brother Fred and I went to collect the frozen boxes of fish for him from the railway station at the bottom of Midland Road, this was at the time they were working on the new Griffiths bridge over the Aire and Calder canal, which of course no longer exists.

On from Madeley’s there was Murphys, what we used to call the Tin Shop, it sold cooking utensils, sweeping brushes, buckets etc, it is now Burberry’s clothes factory. Then there was a wet fish shop, the Hall Cliffe House, Cheetham’s ladies’ dress shop and Buckles.

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The old post office which is now a lino and carpet shop has been a bicycle shop selling and repairing motor bikes. Then there was a chemist shop (Pickering’s Chemist which transferred to here from the Wells corner) which became Mount’s furniture shop and Meadow Grocery and there was Tinker’s buns and cakes. There was Griffith’s who sold sweets which was taken over by Froggats and one was the Co-op shoe shop. Melias grocery and general dealer became a furniture shop and further on was David Haigh’s pawn broker shop, with three balls hung above the door, Bolton’s green grocer and Black’s newspaper shop which became the pet shop.

Mark Westnedge’s boots shoes and clog shop was where the Tone and Tan studio is now and the Barnsley Dyslexia Association was once Yorkshire Trustee Savings Bank. There was a house converted into a bicycle repair shop which sold all kinds of cycling equipment, then there was Hawkins’ off licence across from the Bush Social Club and a sweet shop.

The Labour Exchange, which was a soup kitchen during the 1926 strike, became a youth centre but the building was demolished some time ago. There was Bird’s confectionery shop. Simpson’s hairdresser became Micklethwaites and Macleans-Tordoff the dentists are still occupying the same premises today.

Further on there was Blenkarn’s building contractors and building materials and over the Air and Calder canal Hawk’s shop which has long been closed. The Ship Hotel, once owned by Jessie Scull, is reputed to have the longest bar in Yorkshire and once housed the coroner’s court and my grandfather, George Henry Cutts, sat on the bench. It also housed the Monckton Cycling Club, the Fur and Feather Club and the Pigeon Racing Club which found it particularly useful because it was near the railway station where the pigeons were despatched to the start of their races. Finally a fish and chip shop called Finney’s in a row of houses before you got to the gasometers. I peeled potatoes for Mr Finney when I was a boy.

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But that was only the left hand side of Midland Road.

Starting from the Wells on the right hand side there was, on the corner, the Globe - managed by Mr Wildesmith. It was a grocery store but has since been a dry cleaner, a greetings card shop, a drapery shop and is now a wallpaper shop. Next door was the Co-op hardware store (another ‘tin shop’ as we used to call it) run by Mr Skidmore. This was also the office for Co-op insurance. The building became a laundrette and is now a ladies’ hair salon Garland Hinchcliffe, the butcher, had a plot of land where he kept the beasts he bought and slaughtered. He slaughtered them in a building at the bottom of the plot when they were needed for his shop, this land was eventually taken for a doctor’s surgery, when that closed down it became a toddler’s play group. Mr Hinchcliffe retired and his shop is now a tattooist. The house net door to the toddlers’ play group was a chemist which was useful when the surgery was there.

Where the library is now there were allotments. Further on a ladies’ hairdresser owned by Freda Laycock who everybody in Royston remembers and Freddy Beal’s electrical and cobbler’s shop. Freddy Beal’s shop was also a petrol station, he sold petrol from a hand pump at the front. In the 1930s when wireless sets were powered by accumulators, Freddy sold batteries and this was where people took their accumulator to be recharged when it ran out of acid. Freddy employed George Gallear to deliver to people’s homes he brought them round in a makeshift barrow made up of a wooden box with a pair of handles and a pair of bicycle wheels. When he delivered the accumulator he was often given a tip by people for fixing their wireless sets up for them.

Heaton’s bakery, where they baked their own bread, had been Walker’s clock shop, the bakery down the yard at the back of the shop is now owned by S Handley and distributes bread, cakes etc to shops in Royston. The betting shop still exists and Wood’s photography was taken over by Jones and then Delaneys. There was another fish and chip shop which is now Charles James and Co. (Barnsley Building Society) followed 71

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by the relay (wireless) shop. As recently as the 1950s radio was relayed by a cable, via a post similar to a telephone post, to houses all over the village. This building was later used by a taxi company.

Barker’s furniture shop became Alice Willis’s boutique, then a second hand or nearly new bric-a-brac dealer and is now Sally’s cafe. Then came Wood’s green grocer and next door was Sally Morgan - haberdasher who sold wool, pins, needles and kiddies wear. A greengrocer and general dealer shop run

by Halsteads and then Mr and Mrs Street became Mr Bedford’s DIY shop. Mr Street also did watch and clock repairs. Next door was Yemm’s tool shop which became Murphy’s tin shop before both shops merged as a DIY shop under Mr Bedford. This is still a DIY shop.

The next shop was turned into a cobbler’s run by Mr Cope, I remember Mr Cope only had one leg. Next door, on the corner, was Pearce’s sweet shop, now demolished. Past the Salvation Army building was the garage for Red Cross ambulances. These were driven by Mr Madeley who I have mentioned previously. He took my wife to the maternity hospital when my daughter was about to be born. This building now belongs to the British Legion.

Then, where Royston Windows is now, there was Pagan’s confectionery and Wood’s butchers. Followed by Bateman’s garage which carried out repairs to cars and lorries and also changed tyres.

McNair’s butchers is there now but I understand it was Chester’s before that. Cheetham’s electrical and fancy goods sold records and sheet music before it became a florists and then a barber’s shop. After Cheethams but before the new general post office there used to be a small market every Saturday consisting of about six stalls. I remember a butcher’s stall, a hardware stall and a green grocer’s stall The new general post office at the left hand side of Park View was moved to there from the other side of Midland Road.

Walker’s fish and chip shop was Cooper’s in those days.

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Pam’s hairdresser was Mr Roberts’ cobbler shop before it became a pet shop where I used to buy my rabbit pellets and dog food. The little shop attached to this, at the top of Dove Hill, was Roberts’ which sold clothes for kiddies, haberdashery etc.

Also at the top of Dove Hill is Monckton Working Men’s Club.

Here, on the pavement there was a gents’ public toilet, made of cast iron, which you walked past quickly. The club only had a ladies’ toilet inside so gentlemen had to use the one on the pavement outside.

There was also a decorator’s shop and Ferguson’s fruit and vegetable shop. Sylvia Jones’ catering business was next, providing a popular service to the community and surrounding areas for many years. Sylvia’s husband was a bookmaker the shop was previously run by May Smith, as a sweet and confectioners shop. The property was owned by Eddie Blackwell and May Smith took over the premises when the library, previously housed there, was relocated to West Street off North Road. Mr Taylor the undertaker was next door then a barber’s shop which is still a hairdressers, and Eastman’s butcher shop which is now a Chinese takeaway. After the Bush social club was Hunter’s grocery store which became Billy Key’s Butcher shop next door which is now an Indian take-away. Hellewell’s newspapers, toys and games came next.

Next was Pether’s fish and chip shop which had a sign in the window: THIS IS THE PLAICE TO COME - NO CODDING. There was another branch of Andrew’s, a hairdresser, a motor accessory shop, a fruit, vegetables and grocery shop, the Coop grocery department, a small bake house and then Mrs Parkes’ butcher’s shop. Les Barrel worked with Mrs Parkes.

In the middle of a row of houses called Cutts Terrace before the Griffiths bridge there was Mr Hawks fish and chip shop, a sweet shop at the corner and then over the bridge Webster’s beer off which was taken over by Winderbanks.

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Finally the Railway club and the railway station where we used to catch a train for our day trips.

Two years on Midland Road continues to evolve.

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THE ROBIN HOOD SITE Susan Dodson The row of houses I live in is called Robin Hood Place, no one could tell me why it was called that, so I decided to research the history of it.

I visited Wakefield Archives almost every week for more than a year looking through their records. With the deeds and an old map I found the land on which the houses now stand was called Robin Hood, I have asked around but nobody knows why the land had that name, I wonder - Royston was once on the edge of Sherwood Forest - did the man himself pass through?

When the site was first developed in 1883, Midland Road was still very much a country lane running between hedges and orchards, in those days it was called Senior Lane. While there were a few houses here and there, the building of houses such as I live in were very much a part of the development of the Midland Road we know today.

In the 1824 Roystone Rate Book the site is plot 286, owned and farmed by John Bayldon. There are records that show that the site was conveyed in June 1834 to a Jno Ball, if he ever intended building on the plot he didn’t. It was plot number 167 on the 1845 Tithe Apportionment and on the 1852 Poor Law Board map.

In 1871 a twelve year old schoolboy, J Ball, was lodging with the Gray family and on 3rd January 1880 an indenture was signed between a Mr Gray and Jonathan Ball. On 4th February the conveyance was completed between the two.

There is a deed signed on 12th August 1881 between J Ball and John Hornby concerning a site, 4 acres 2 roods 11 perches (four and a half acres), formerly owned by Joseph Bayldon, this is plot 166 in the 1845/1852 maps which show it being owned by John Bayldon. The plot came to the Bayldon family in 1824 when it was part of the recently deceased Sir 75

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George Wood’s estate which passed to his sister Susannah Bayldon whose husband Richard farmed the site.

Mr Bayldon is known to have sold other lands on Midland Road, the following record refers to land opposite the surgery and overlooking the present park: 2nd March 2 1893: Sale by auction at Ring o’ Bells of Joseph Bayldon land on Senior Lane bought by Jones, Beal, Taylor, Ward, Mirfin, Kemp, Ellis, Davies, etc.

Also included in the deed signed on 12th August 1881 was the Great Cold Well site 8 acres 2 roods 0 perches (eight and a half acres), which was plot 281 in 1824 and plot 173 in 1845 and 1852. In each of these earlier records the plot was farmed and owned by John Bayldon but in 1881 the site contained six cottages some in occupation, some in the course of erection. The names of the occupants were Hawkins, Briggs, Briggs, Duckworth, Ellis - names that correspond with the inhabitants of Ball’s Terrace in the 1881 Census schedules completed in April of that year.

Less than two years later on 18th April 1883 an indenture was signed and on 30th May the conveyance completed between Jno Ball and Williams - a Barnsley corn merchant - concerning the sites of Robin Hood and the Great Coldwell 4acres 2 roods 11perches (four and a half acres). Twelve cottages had been erected on Robin Hood and thirteen were in the course of erection. Interestingly on 30th June 1883 the Barnsley Chronicle records a workmen’s supper given by Ball on the completion of the row.

By 1890, ten houses, a shop and a stable are recorded on the site corresponding to the stretch of houses incorporating Robin Hood Place up to number 183. They were in the occupation of Bray, Birch, Houghton, Golding, Downing, Morgan, Cooksey, Baggot, Davis and Gregory. Most of these names were still there in the 1891 Census.

On 15th February 1893 a conveyance was completed between S Bray, John Hornby and Thos & Chas Fox - brewers 76

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and wine and spirit merchants - of Barnsley on a plot of land eight hundred and forty five square yards or thereabouts with dwelling house and shop and two dwelling houses with conveniences and out buildings, these were numbers 185, 187 and 187a. In the 1907 Royston Red Book, Mrs Margaret Bray advertises that she sells Fox’s beers.

Records for 18th February also show Robin Hood Close (Robin Hood Place) containing seven messuages (a legal term from the middle ages meaning a plot of land in a village with a dwelling) for a plot occupied by Golding, Gregory, Greenfield, York, etc. These were contracted to be sold by S Bray to J Hornby along with a dwelling house and shop occupied by Bray, two dwelling houses with stables and a bake-house. I found a note made by someone born in 1905 who remembered a bake-house behind Firth’s shop which later became the first fish and chip shop in Royston, but I have yet to have this verified.

Mr Bray had other properties. On 28th August 1889 a contract was signed between Mr Bray and A B Southall, who was General Manager at Monckton Colliery, for land at the junction of Alfred Street and Senior Lane. Records for 11th December 1889 show that Mr Bray owned four dwelling houses and three lock-up shops on Goodly Croft (Alfred Street) the plans are dated 28th August.

Records also show that on 11th January 1903 C J Yardley bought the site of a shop on Midland Road opposite Alfred Street, from S Bray. And on April 1 1904 Mr Bray bought numbers 65 to 71 on Millgate Street.

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KENDRAY HOSPITAL 1953-55 Nancy Jackson The ambulance turned the corner passing a long red brick building and came to a stop. When the doors of the ambulance opened the first thing I saw were children playing outside Arnott Ward in Kendray Isolation Hospital. What I didn’t know then was that I would spend the next eighteen months in there. I was nine years old and I didn’t have any more education for nearly two years, apart from a few weeks before I was discharged, when an elderly school teacher came to the hospital for a few hours a week.

Being an isolation hospital each ward was separated by a glass corridor so that infectious diseases such as polio, scarlet fever and tuberculosis could be contained. Arnott Ward was two prefabricated huts separated in the middle by an entrance hall with a kitchen and office on either side. The kitchen had a small window overlooking the ward through which nurses could keep an eye on the patients. The only food that was cooked in the kitchen was porridge which we had for breakfast every morning, this was cooked by the night nurse in a large container with a lid. Dinner and tea were cooked elsewhere and brought to the ward in a heated trolley and served on the ward around a large wooden dining table.

At the beginning of my stay the food was served on enamel plates and drinks in tin mugs which were badly chipped and dented, I didn’t like using them as I hadn’t been used to this at home. Fortunately these were later replaced by crockery.

The ward was very bare apart from the black wrought iron beds and the enamel bedside lockers. The only other pieces of furniture were the large wooden table in the centre of the room and a metal cupboard at the left hand side of the entrance door. To the right hand side of the entrance door was a tripod stand with an enamel bowl placed on the top fitted with a blue disinfectant called Rocol in which the doctors and nurses washed their hands. The windows were bare with no curtains or blinds to close at night. The wooden floor was 78

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polished with a piece of equipment called a bumper and then dusted over with a mop.

I remember the cleaning lady who was very kind and sometimes gave me a Mars Bar. At the far end of the ward opposite to the entrance, were the bathroom and toilets with an exit to the outside grounds. When darkness fell mice would run about under the beds.

One day after being in hospital for quite some time a television was delivered. It was inside a wooden cabinet with doors on the front and placed in front of the dining table. We were only allowed to watch television for one hour a day after tea and then we had to go to bed. A cover was placed over the set until the next day.

At Christmas time the ward was decorated with paper trimmings which were strung across the ceiling and a large Christmas tree in one corner of the room which made the surroundings colourful if only for a few days. The mayor and mayoress along with Father Christmas would visit and leave everyone a gift.

Visitors of patients were not allowed on the wards, this was to prevent infection spreading, so relatives and friends could leave gifts and letters at the hospital reception twice a week on Wednesday and Saturday. Sweets and biscuits brought into the hospital were put on one side and shared between the children on a daily basis. I suspect this was done because some children never received anything.

I have seen very small children screaming for hours on end when they came into hospital and then again when it was time to go home because they had forgotten who their parents were after such a long time. I know that by the time I was discharged I had become institutionalised and found it very hard to adjust to normal life again.

Hospital routine went on day after day and was broken sometimes by a visit to the X ray department at St Helen’s hospital (now demolished), this meant I could have a ride in 79

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the ambulance from one end of Barnsley to the other. The chest Consultant would also come to examine the children at regular intervals, his name was Dr Danahar and his deputy was a Dr Maroney. One special occasion, that I clearly remember, was being taken to the main gates of the hospital along with the other children to see the Queen and Prince Philip pass by after a visit to the Town Hall. This was the year after the Coronation. A special stand had been erected for us.

As the royal car reached where we were sitting it slowed right down and the Queen waved to us.

During my stay in hospital I made a special friend, Anne Bonik, her mother was especially kind to me and took me to her home for visits on several occasions.

Eventually after eighteen months I was discharged back into the outside world.

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CARLTON & ROYSTON CYCLING CLUB Joan Johnson (nee Oxley) In 1944 a group of friends on a cycle ride to Cawthorne Park had the idea of forming a cycling club. The idea reached fruition when, in July 1945, the first official club run of the CARLTON & ROYSTON CYCLING CLUB took place.

Six members pedalled the fifty miles from Royston to Brigg, near Scunthorpe, riding heavy cycles and tandems and wearing an assortment of impractical clothing. At that time specific clothing for cycling wasn’t available. Even if it had been, I doubt if anyone would have been able to afford to use their precious clothing coupons on such items!

The six founder members included Margaret Crossland (an usherette employed at the Ace Cinema), Phil Clare (honorary secretary and club photographer), George Nixon and John Mitchell. Unfortunately there is no record of the names of the other two people in the group.

Membership soon increased - a photograph taken at the first Christmas party held in the Scout Hut on Cross Lane shows that twelve members and their families attended. Two of the members, Stella and Walter, had come from Birmingham to live in Carlton. Walter was a Bevin Boy, working at Monckton Colliery. Another photograph taken in 1946 on a club run to Knaresborough shows fifteen members, while on the 1947 run to Knaresborough there were twenty-seven. Such was the enthusiasm for the sport that one member, who had a cousin living in Royston, cycled all the way from Bradford to join the Sunday morning runs!

The Annual General Meeting was held the following January.

Then the officials and the club captain were elected.

The year’s club runs were selected and the racing programme for the coming season would be decided. The captain led the club on the Sunday runs and it was his responsibility to note who attended them. Royston Wells was the starting point for 81

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all outings and a different route was chosen each week to save riders getting bored with pedalling off in the same direction. Petrol was still rationed so there was very little vehicular traffic around; it really was the open road for cyclists.

Along with my friend Joan (Rogerson, nee Shaw) I had for some time cycled around the local roads, though we had once ridden as far as Hull, so in 1952 we decided to join the Carlton and Royston Cycling Club. Club riding gave us a whole new insight into the sport of cycling.

Summer runs included rides to York, Baslow, Otley and Matlock to name but a few. The longest run was the YTC tour (I think it was called this because the Yorkshire Traction Bus Company used to cover the route on one of their day trips) and this was about a hundred and twenty miles. It was not the easiest of rides as it took us as far as Pateley Bridge and Grassington but we felt a great sense of achievement as we pedalled our weary way home. Needless to say, this was one of the runs when we didn’t take a football with us for an afterlunch kick about!

Winter runs were usually much shorter distances; Langsett, Wentbridge, Aberford and Naburn were the most popular ones. Often cold and wet, we would arrive at a C.T.C (Cyclist’s Touring Club) cafe and spend time drying our wet shoes and socks in front of a roaring coal fire. This was never a problem with the proprietors, it was amazing how many helpings of egg and chips, plates of sandwiches and pots of tea a group of healthy and hungry cyclists could consume! The cafe at Naburn was a favourite with all the cycling clubs and the owner would cook dozens of huge, mouth-watering Yorkshire puddings in a coal oven in her small kitchen-cum-sitting room at the rear of the house. Vegetables were always home grown and the fruit pies were homemade and served with lashings of custard. A pot of steaming tea completed the meal. What a feast! And all for the princely sum of two shillings and sixpence - i.e. twelve and a half pence.

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Holidays: often small groups of members would spend their annual holidays touring different parts of the country, and occasionally some went abroad. Routes were carefully planned and whenever possible Youth Hostels were booked in advance. Normally for club riding everyone rode fixed gear but for holidays the sprocket was removed and replaced with a set of either five or ten gears. Saddlebags and panniers were packed to full capacity with sufficient spare clothing and toiletries to last for two or three weeks and away we rode to all corners of the British Isles. Sometimes long weekends would see us journeying to the coast or to the Yorkshire Dales. At Easter-time we would cycle into Lancashire and stay in bed and breakfast accommodation close to Manchester and the Velodrome at Fallowfield. One of our cycling heroes was world champion Reg Harris, one of the world’s finest track riders.

We shouted ourselves hoarse as we watched the exciting team events. Jimmy Saville, of television fame, commentated on the races. It was a great opportunity for us to see many different international track stars.

York Rally was a must on the cycling calendar and hundreds of riders would converge on the Knavesmire, alongside the racecourse. Club riders from further afield would camp overnight under canvas. On the day we could watch cycle polo, grass track racing and a cavalcade of ancient and modern bicycles and there were numerous stalls and exhibitions that we could browse round at our leisure. It was a good weekend for meeting up with friends and acquaintances from other clubs around the area.

Racing: throughout the season the C.R.C.C. held its own racing events. These were time trials; riders set off individually at one-minute intervals and paced riding was not allowed.

Every Thursday evening a ten-mile time trial would be held.

One of the ten-mile courses started on the A61 BarnsleyWakefield road near to what is now Barnsley Building Materials Company and ran for five miles, turning at the road junction near to the top of Newmillerdam hill. The finish was on Rotherham Road down towards the cross roads (Dodd’s Corner). Another course was on the Wakefield to Doncaster road, starting near Ackworth. A twenty-five mile course started 83

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at Notton Station, went over Chevet to Sandal Three Houses and then along the A61 towards Barnsley, turning at the junction with Old Mill Lane and then retracing the route back to the start - imagine racing along the A61 these days! There was also a thirty-mile race (turning at Burton Salmon) and a fifty-mile race (turning at Tadcaster). Some riders also entered open events in the surrounding districts. On Saturday evenings they would cycle to wherever the race was to be held - York and Blyth were frequent venues - and stay in bed and breakfast accommodation, and race early on the Sunday morning. Later in the day they would meet up with the rest of the Club and all would ride home together.

Reliability Rides were also held but these were not races.

The first year a rider had to complete the hundred miles in as near as possible to eight hours; the following year the target was seven hours and in the third year six hours. This was more difficult than it sounds trying to co-ordinate the time and distance was not easy! The 100-mile ride was from Royston to Brigg (near Scunthorpe) and back.

The Freewheel contest was an end-of-season fun event. It was held down the hill near what used to be No 5 pit / Lanner works. The bikes would have their chains removed and from a standing start we had to freewheel down the hill to see what distance we could cover before finally coming to a halt. A good strong tail wind and well-oiled wheels were of great benefit in this event.

The Annual Club Dinner was the final event of the year, being an opportunity to dress up for once! Favourite venues were the Gym at Royston or the King George Hotel in Barnsley. The meal was followed by the presentation of the prizes and a local personality would usually do the honours.

Cups and shields were awarded to the successful racing members and certificates were presented to the Reliability Ride competitors. There was also a Best Attendance cup for the rider who turned out on the most Sunday rides. For the rest of the evening we danced, played games and generally let our hair down - after all, club rides didn’t start again until after the AGM in January.

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MEMORIAL HALL Lisa Scholey After the Peace Celebrations had taken place in 1945, the Memorial Hall Committee (as it was then known) put all their efforts into raising enough money to enable them to erect a building for the community in memory of those that lost their lives in World War II. The Memorial Hall Committee received various contributions from fundraising events, such as Mile of Pennies; shop window competitions (e.g. trying to guess deliberate mistakes); musical evenings; dances and door-to-door collections. The grand total collected was £4,000 but this unfortunately was not enough to cover the costs of the completed building.

In 1955 there was a meeting held by the Urban District Council where they admitted that Royston needed a public hall but due to restricted public expenditure plans it had to be put on hold while the financial situation eased. At that time the Old Age People’s Welfare on High Street needed new premises for their meetings as the building they used was becoming dilapidated and they were pressing various organisations such as the Coal Industry Social Welfare Organisation (CISWO) for help to build a new community centre. A capital grant of £8,500 was promised to them.

Following many meetings of interested organisations it was agreed to pool all the following contributions together and the Welfare Hall Project was started. The final fund total came to £21,000 of which £8,500 was from the Urban District Council, £4,000 from the Memorial Hall Committee, and £8,500 from CISWO. After deciding that the original site proposed for the building on Well Hill was unsuitable it was thought that the building would be better situated at the side of The Grove where there would be more land for parking etc.

Many visits were made to other community halls around the Country looking for inspiration and ideas for the look of the building. A company called Reema sent them catalogues of 85

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their designs. This company was at the forefront in modern building techniques and construction of the pre-made kits.

The Committee Members were impressed and went ahead.

By looking at the interior today it looks like they chose the 350400 seated design that was in the Reema catalogue. The furnishings of the hall cost ÂŁ2,000 together with a grant of ÂŁ500 from West Riding County Council, in view of special treatment offered to older residents in the use of the hall.

Originally the room to the right of the entrance was a reading room designed especially for the elderly and the main hall was to be made available to the Darby and Joan Club every Thursday. The rest of the time the building was available for hire by the community according to certain conditions.

The hall was finally opened on Saturday, 4 September 1965

by Mr Fred Page (a former National Coal Board Education Training and Manpower Officer) and a dedication was conducted by the Vicar of Royston at the time, Reverend J E K Law. Also at the ceremony was the Earl of Scarborough.

To finish off, the Memorial Hall had taken 20 years from its conception after World War II to its completion.

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ROYSTON PEACE CELEBRATIONS AND MEMORIAL HALL COMMITTEE 1945 AND 1946.

Albert Walker The Beginning Although the need for a civic hall had been apparent for many years, up until the end of World War Two no real efforts had been made to finance one. Any functions such as dances or large meetings took place in Working Men’s Clubs, pubs, or school classrooms and assembly halls.

With the defeat of Germany and the imminent defeat of Japan, there was a Governmental and national impetus for each community to organise some sort of celebration and presentation to ex-service men and women and a permanent memorial to those lost in the war.

In response to this, Royston Urban District Council called for a committee to be formed and this was acted upon by Mr A . H. Clark who was the chief official working for the council at the time and for many years afterwards. It is a sign of those times that more than thirty different Royston organisations, as disparate as the Royston Communist Party and religious groups responded. (see appendix one) In addition, local businesses of all kinds contributed in all kinds of ways. The first notice of a meeting was circulated on 11th June 1945 and was set to take place on 14th June 1945 at 7pm at the Royston Boys’ Secondary School (High School). The business for the first meeting was simply stated as:PEACE CELEBRATIONS UPON THE DEFEAT OF JAPAN AND THE ERECTION OF A MEMORIAL HALL. The result of this meeting was that a committee of over forty people was formed (appendix one). These people were largely from:- church groups, council members, working men’s clubs, political groups , sports associations, businesses and other local groups.

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WELCOME HOME COMMITTEE SUB GROUP. This was a sub committee formed to deal with a formal welcome home for ex-service personnel. They began fund raising in earnest due to the imminent cessation of hostilities and were the first to act with any sense of urgency. It was decided by the main committee, that any money raised would go towards mementoes for the returning personnel and the celebrations. The money collected on an ongoing basis thereafter, being allocated to the building of a Memorial Hall.

THE DATE FOR THE CELEBRATIONS BEING SET FOR 7th and 8th JUNE 1946.

Methods of fund raising There were many methods used such as:1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

MILE OF PENNIES. Believe it or not, this consisted of people placing spare pennies in line along the pavement kerbs at various locations in the village. I can remember as a four year old being intrigued by these miles of pennies.

DOOR TO DOOR COLLECTIONS. (See appendix two) DANCES AND SOCIAL EVENINGS. SHOP WINDOW COMPETITIONS. DONATIONS FROM VARIOUS BUSINESSES AND ORGANISATIONS. Most of these letters of donations are available in the Document Archive in the Council Offices and it is interesting to note that many of them are in guineas. (ÂŁ1 and 5 Pence).

LEVY FROM PAY. The National Union Of Mineworkers agreed that a few pennies per week would be deducted from the pay of all members living in Royston and working at New Monckton 1 & 2 Collieries.

FUND RAISING SPORTS EVENTS.

And, many other activities.

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An appeal to all citizens of Royston was made for help in any way possible, with an explanation of what was planned. It went as follows:ROYSTON PEACE CELEBRATIONS AND MEMORIAL HALL COMMITTEE Chairman. Mr J Berry. Joint Hon Sec. A H Clark. H Dearden. Treasurer. M A Ward.

Citizens Of Royston.

Dear friend, This appeal is made to every citizen of Royston. The project of the above Committee is to organise various forms of entertainment to please all sections of the citizens of Royston.

Sub-Committees have been formed to deal with Sports, Music, Aged Persons, Children, Welcome Home and Thanksgiving and to raise money for two days of celebrations.

This personal letter to you is an appeal from this committee to assist in any entertainment organised by the committee, to give every financial assistance, to make possible the Peace Celebrations. A public fund will be opened for this purpose by the Royston Urban District Council. The more important and ultimate aim will be to build a Memorial Hall to commemorate the immortal sacrifice the Royston Forces Personnel made in World War Two. We know the people of Royston for the last six years have withstood heavy burdens in efforts to bring victory to our country, with extra heavy work, taxes and food shortages. We appeal however, for your financial aid in this Public Subscription Fund.

Signed: Royston Peace Celebration and Memorial Hall Committee.

By the beginning of 1946, fund raising was well under way and planning and publicity for the celebration parade and presentation began to take more predominance. The parade itself was planned in detail and all the prospective participants contacted and the mementoes for the ex-service personnel ordered. This last sentence is quite a simple form of words, 89

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but the work, planning and correspondence between the parties involved, was enormous. Most of this correspondence is held in file in the Council Office Archives and makes interesting reading. Not everything was sweetness and light and there were the odd one or two altercations of which I will not mention further in this introduction.

The work and effort involved by all participants in these activities was tremendous, especially when you consider that they had all undergone the stress and deprivation of 6 years of World War. The Celebrations and Parade Some activities took place in the week before Sat 8th June 1946 and particularly on the Friday. A programme was printed

by J. W. Smith, Printers of Ryhill, at a cost of £10.10s (£10.50p) for 2000. The price of the programme was 6d. (Two and a half pence). The following information is taken directly from that programme, original copies of which are in the archives and in private possession. Celebration Programme information contains adverts for local businesses of the time. It also contains a potted history of Royston under the title; SOME INTERESTING FACTS ABOUT ROYSTON. (As a one page summary, I haven’t seen anything to beat it in recent times and include it at the end of this body of work. Appendix three).

Adverts referred to above are I feel, worthy of inclusion, as they illustrate the kinds of businesses trading in the village at the time, and their locations. Many people will remember these traders even now and contemplate on a time when, with numerous others, they provided Royston with a complete and comprehensive shopping centre.

They are as follows:For Best Quality FRUIT, VEGETABLES, & WET FISH J.S.COTTAM, 137 Midland Rd, Royston Also 82 Station Rd. and Market Buildings Ryhill.

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THE SHOPPING CENTRE J. E. E. MADELEY, Ladies and Gent’s Outfitter 127 & 129 Midland Rd, Royston E. ELSWORTH, Fruiterers & Greengrocers The Wells, Royston.

BUY NATIONAL SAVINGS and help win the peace.

Royston’s target for the year April1st. 1946 to March 31st.1947 £30,000 (in small savings only) Join your street group NOW! HAULAGE Graham Cheetham, 111 Midland Rd, Royston.

Coal deliveries for Royston & District. Removals etc. Distance no object.

Geo Cheetham Draper & Milliner, 141, Midland Rd, Royston.

Ladies Dresses and Jumpers. Baby Linen.

High Class Footwear.

For Your Medical and Toilet Requirements W. BUNNIS, M.P.S. CHEMIST Midland Rd & The Wells,Royston.

Z. FERGUSON. Greengrocer and Florist.

Noted shop for Wreaths & Crosses, Wedding Bouquets etc.

228, Midland Rd, Royston.

EVERY THING HOME MADE at: L. BIRD, Baker and Confectioner, 155, Midland Rd, Royston.

All kinds of parties catered for.

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For real value in boots, shoes and clothing, go to THE CENTRAL PROPRIETOR:- Mark Westnedge 165 &167 Midland Road,Royston.

Appointed Portland Agents.

EST. 1893.

H. ANDREWS Draper and Outfitter 260 Midland Rd, Royston.

Boots & Shoes, Portland. Etc. “SHAVE SIR ?”

C. PRIESTLEY, Hairdresser The Wells Royston Also dealers in Cycles and Spares.

Electrical Equipment etc.

THE BARNSLEY BRITISH CO-OPERATIVE SOCIETY From May 1939 to Nov. 1945. The Members received in Dividends £2,508,139 If you desire to share in the benefits enquire at the Central Offices, BARNSLEY. THE PUBLISHED PROGRAMME SATURDAY JUNE 8th 1946 A THANKSGIVING SERVICE will be held in the Welfare Park, at 1030 a.m.

Music will be provided by the SALVATION ARMY. 1-0 p.m.

GRAND CARNIVAL ASSEMBLY and OPENING CEREMONY Chairman: Cr. J. Berry Speaker: K.D.Woolley Esq. 1-15 p.m.

The CROWNING OF THE PEACE QUEEN by Mrs K.Woolley in the Modern School Playground.

1-30 p.m.

CARNIVAL PARADE. The Parade headed by the Royston New Monckton Institute Band will leave the schools and will proceed to the Wells, High Street, Summer Lane, Back Lane, Well Hill, Church St, Church Hill, Cross Lane, Midland Rd, and into the Park and Bandstand via Coronation Walk.

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3-30 p.m.

3-30 p.m.

A BABY SHOW in the Park. (if wet, in the Pavilion).

Up to 6mths, 12mths, 18mths 2 yrs. (prize for each section). Entries taken by Mrs Hall, Clinic Secretary.

PUNCH AND JUDY and other entertainments will take place during the afternoon and evening.

The Royston and New Monckton Institute Band and the Salvation Army Bands will render musical items during the afternoon and evening.

SPORTS EVENTS 100yds Flat Race (gents) Obstacle Race 80 yds Flat Race (ladies) Ladies Skipping Race 1 /2 Mile Race Ladies Egg and Spoon Race 21/2 Miles (open) Slow Bicycle Race 21/2 Miles Walking Race Tug-of War teams of six

Entrance made to Mr Hanson (Monckton Institute), or on the field.

Entrance fee 6d Each event. ALSO SCHOOL SPORT FINALS. 4-15 p.m.

6-0 p.m.

6-30 p.m.

8-30 p.m.

10-30 p.m.

11-00 p.m.

12-00

Royston Aged Peoples Treat in The Modern Schools.

The Schoolchildrens Treat will be held on Friday 7th June, in the schools.

Sports Events Finals Boxing tournament Dancing In The Park. Music by the Monckton Institute Band.

Lighting of bonfire.

Grand Firework Display.

National Anthem.

CITIZENS, Decorate your Township for ROYSTON’S CELEBRATION DAY Saturday, June 8th 1946.

WELCOME HOME FUND The Committee are desirous of expressing the Township’s appreciation to those who have served with H.M. Forces (including the Women’s Land Army) during the difficult period of the war from 3rd Sept’ 1939, to V.E. Day, the 9th of May, 1945.

To this end it is intended to present each person who has done such service, a suitable token.

Presentations will be made at intervals, as and when 93

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personnel are demobilised, and the first will take place at a concert given by the Royston Glee Club and Concert Party in the Modern School, Royston, on Friday, 7th June, 1946, commencing at 6-30 p.m.

The cases of those who enlisted between V.E. Day, the 9th.May, 1945 and V.J. Day, The 19th August, 1945, and served overseas will be considered by the committee if particulars are handed in at the Council Offices.

MEMORIAL HALL. Royston can be proud of many achievements but unfortunately we cannot boast of any premises that can adequately cater for public and social functions.

Meetings, Dances, Concerts, Tea Parties and many other activities are often held in buildings which are inadequate and unsuitable for these occasions, and it is because of this, that it has been decided to raise funds for the erection of premises which will cater for public requirements.

Perhaps YOU are a member of some organisation that meets in unsuitable premises. Perhaps YOU have attended some function where the facilities attached to the premises are unsatisfactory. Perhaps YOU have encountered difficulties when endeavouring to book a room for a Concert, a Dance or a Wedding Party.

YES! A Public Hall in Royston, is very desirable and needful.

Help us to help you by supporting our efforts and appeals.

THUS CLOSED THE PUBLISHED PROGRAMME.

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Miscellaneous Information THE ORDER OF THE VICTORY PARADE WAS AS FOLLOWS:1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

Police.

Councillors.

Royston New Monckton Band.

Ex-Service Personnel.

National Fire Service.

Yorkshire Miners Association.

A.S.L.E. & F. British Legion Women’s Section.

Cheer Up Club.

Royston Railwaymen’s Sports Club.

Methodist Scouts.

Other Organisations.

Peace Queen and Attendants.

Fancy Dresses.

Decorated Vehicles.

THE PEACE QUEEN AND HER ATTENDANTS The Peace Queen was Miss Alice Smith.

The Attendants were:- Misses Margaret Dale, Doreen Smith, Sheila Clapham, Doreen Cotton, Ella Bettley, and Elsie Gray.

The dresses and hats were hired for the Peace Queen and her attendants at a cost of £7 and 14 shillings. (£7.70p).

THE BANDS The two bands already mentioned were, after some bargaining, paid £25 each.

ICE CREAM It was resolved that James Edward Jones of 15, West End Crescent, would have the right to sell ice cream in the park for a donation to the fund of £5. (Jones’ Ice Cream was a well known and popular local Royston firm and served Royston and the surrounding area for many years.)

PUBLIC ANNOUNCER. Ex Police Inspector Williams officiated in the Park.

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GIFTS TO SERVICE PERSONNEL. Wallets were presented to all qualifying personnel but very few received them on the day, as many were still on active service and some still overseas. The cost of the wallets was £560 which was by far the largest single item of expenditure.

FIREWORKS. These cost £21 and in the planning stages were the subject of a letter to the Barnsley Chronicle from an unnamed person who had been informed (wrongly),that they were to cost £500.As is usually the case, instead of checking the facts first, this kind of person prefers to moan about the efforts of those that actually do something. As it turned out, the £500 was the ceiling figure for the whole event. The Chronicle cutting and an excellent reply to it, penned by G D Smith, Publicity Agent for the committee, are in the archives.

SCHOOL CHILDRENS SHILLINGS A shilling was given to every schoolchild at a cost of £59. 1s. This indicates that there were 1181 children eligible.

OLD PEOPLES TEA AND REFRESHMENTS (terminology of the time). £81. 2s. 6d.

The day apparently went well, with clement weather but with surprisingly little in the way of photographic record. This being at the end of a major war and its inevitable shortages would account for the lack of photographs, but there must be pictures held by someone given the importance of the event.

THE LEGACY On 11th July 1946, Thomas Dyer and J A Westwood, audited the Receipts and Payments Account for The Royston Peace Celebrations and Memorial Hall Fund. (Copy available in the archives).

After all the fund raising and substantial expenditure involved in the Peace Celebrations, some of it described previously, the amount remaining to initiate the start of a fund for a Memorial Hall (Civic Hall), was £382. 11s. 1/2 d.

Although this may not sound much, it was worth well over £10,000 at today’s prices.

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The Memorial Hall Committee carried on raising funds for nearly another twenty years. In1955 a public enquiry supported additional funding to start the building, but due to the credit squeeze of the period that severely restricted public spending, the project was deferred. The financial climate in the country did not improve for the remainder of the fifties, but The Committee carried on raising funds, with some changes of members taking place from time to time.

In the early sixties, The Royston Urban Aged People’s Welfare Committee were approaching the Coal Industry Social Welfare Organisation (C.I.S.W.O.) for funding to replace the dilapidated Darby and Joan Headquarters on High Street. A grant of £6,500, increased to £8,500 was provided by C.I.S.W.O. Joint discussions between the Aged Peoples Committee, the Memorial Hall Committee (Now Welfare Hall Committee), Royston Urban District Council, and C.I.S.W.O. took place and it was sensibly agreed that all funds should be pooled.

The Welfare Hall project was launched with an estimated cost of £21,000,which was the amount available from all contributing parties. Monies provided as follows:Welfare Hall Committee Royston Urban District Council C.I.S.W.O Total

£4,000 £8,500 £8,500 £21,000

Thus with all the efforts and aspirations of nearly 20 years, building work started in the grounds of The Council Offices at The Grove in 1964. The Hall was handed over to the Council on 6th July 1965 and officially opened on 4th September 1965. This was 20 years, 2 months and 20 days after that inaugural meeting on 14th June 1945 at which the business was simply stated as :- Peace Celebrations Upon The Defeat Of Japan And The Erection Of A Memorial Hall.

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APPENDIX ONE MEMORIAL HALL ROYSTON PEACE CELEBRATIONS AND MEMORIAL HALL COMMITTEE MEMBERS.1945/46 Mr W Humphries Mr G Shone Mr H E Holmes Mr J Berry Mr T Dyer Mr W Westwood Mr R Crawshaw Mr G Cooke Mr W Morris Mrs M Morris Mr F Williams Mr A Westerman Mr G W Frost Mr G Winch Mr J H Ratcliffe Mrs H Dearden Mr G D Smith Major Insch Mr L Jackson Mr C E Buckingham

37 Church Hill Midland Rd Wansfell House 116 Station Rd Wells House 118 Church Hill 112 Cross Lane 140 Cross Lane 1 West Avenue do Greasbro Cottages 6 West Avenue 33 Newtown Ave. 30 Park View 323 Midland Rd 16 Oakwood Rd 2 Ivy Cottages 19 Midland Rd 14 Royston Lane 44 The Green

Management Committee Mr E Oxley 2 Jack Close Orchard Mrs J A Westwood 118 Church Hill Mr G Powell 35 Park View Mr C P Perry 94 Cross Lane Mr J W Allsopp 82 East End Crescent Mr W Lowe 38 Calder Avenue Mr H Caswell 17 North Rd Mrs Standeven 48 Park View Mrs R Davies 24 West Avenue Mrs B Moore 68 Summer Lane Mr G Woods

Kirkfield Way

Mr G Ward Mrs L Jagger Mr A H Clarke Mr H Dearden Mr C S Ward Mr C M Linford Mr H Hanson

17 Filey Ave 60 Station Rd 63 Church Hill 16 Oakwood Rd St John’s Walk 122 Station Road M&B I

Mrs M Edmonds Mr S Auty

Station Road 95 East End Crescent ?

Midland Road ?

Mrs Bagshaw Mr Geo. Clegg Mr N Sheldon

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Royston U.D.C do do do do do do do do Midland Methodist Women Royston British Legion Midland Road Methodist British Legion Sports Club do Old Age People W.E.A. Royston Communist Party Salvation Army Salvation Army Band Royston Youth National Savings Movement W.V.S. Royston Cricket Club Carnival Committee Railwaymen’s Social Methodist Scouts Hospital Committee do Cooperative Guild British Legion Women’s Section Monckton Men & Boys Institute (The Gym) Royston Labour Party Nursing Association U.D.C. Official do do Ambulance Committee Monckton Men & Boys Institute (The Gym) Brit.Legion Women’s Section Assoc Of Loco Enginemen & Firemen O.A.C A.R.P. Services Monckton Club & Institute

Memories of Royston

APPENDIX TWO MEMORIAL HALL Letter To The Citizens Of Royston Re. Door to Door Collections 24th & 25th Jan 1946. It went as follows:Royston Peace Celebrations & Memorial Committee Council Offices, Royston, Barnsley.

Dear Sir or Madam, No doubt you are aware that this Committee was elected at a public meeting last year to organise an official “Welcome Home� to the returning boys and girls of H.M. Forces who have served the people at home so well. This effort will take the form of entertainments, teas, or gift tokens for (a) those fortunate enough to return, (b) the children, (c) aged persons, and (d) sports etc. for the general public, It is hoped to arrange these events on the days set aside by the Government some time this year.

You will see by the title of the Committee, after the events mentioned above have been carried out, we intend to keep working for a much needed Village Hall for the benefit and use of the whole of the residents of Royston.

All this cannot be carried out without public support and financial aid, and this letter is a personal appeal to you for a donation to this worthy cause, and we earnestly ask you to give as generously as you can to the collectors who will be calling upon you on the 24th and 25th of this month.

Yours very sincerely, J. Berry, Chairman and Councillor C.S. Ward, Hon. Sec. A.H. Clark, Jt.Hon. Sec.

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APPENDIX THREE MEMORIAL HALL. ENTRY IN THE PEACE CELEBRATIONS DAY PROGRAMME 1946.

A Brief History of Royston That the Parish of Royston is old is proven by the fact that it is mentioned in the Domesday Book, which was compiled soon after the Norman Conquest about 1066.

It was probably at that time, a tiny village without a church, standing on the site of an Old Saxon settlement on the fringe of Sherwood Forest, but grew later to include the neighbouring villages of Woolley, Cudworth, Carlton and Monk Bretton.

Its inhabitants were probably engaged solely in agriculture, as indeed they were up to a matter of 70 years ago.

The Parish Church is first heard of about 1156, and the new Church, the present Church of St. John, was commenced about 1250, following a gift by William son of Thomas de Roreston, of a parcel of land lying between Milnegate (Milgate St) and the original Church.

The Church possesses many interesting features. The flat roof dates back to about 1450 and amongst the carved bosses of the beams can be seen a monk with asses ears, angels with spread wings, a fox with a rat under its paw, a swan and various patterns on shields including the Coat of Arms of the Neviles of Chevet and the D’Arcys. The carved screens to the Chancel Aisles date back to 1490.

It is interesting to recall that during the Reformation the use of the Prayer Book never ceased at this Church and that but one other Church in the country possesses an Oriel Window in the Tower and that is at Macclesfield.

The Chantry House in Church St. dates from about 1500 was given with a couple of roods of land by an unknown donor for the benefit of the poor. Many charitable bequests were made over a long period. These are now administered as the Royston United Charities.

In 1608 was founded the old Grammar School which passed through the years until the fall of the last century, when it became defunct.

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On the site of the Pack Horse Inn stood until a few years ago a much older hostelry, which in fact serves to remind us of the days when Yorkshire Cloth makers conveyed their products by road to the London markets.

Royston was on the direct bridle road from Leeds and Wakefield to the Capital.

It may be that in the Oriel Window of the Church was placed a lantern to serve as a beacon for travellers over this road and surrounding moors.

With the exploitation of the neighbouring coalfield about 1875 onwards came an influx of workers to the collieries from Staffordshire, Wales, Lancashire and Durham and from this time the expansion of the village has been rapid and many old names and landmarks have been lost.

In like manner, as estates such as Newtown, East End Crescent, Park Estates and West End Crescent have grown up, so much of the older Royston has disappeared, and amid memories of the past one likes to keep alive a curious slogan, which an old Royston Cobbler (who had suffered at the hands of bad payers) had painted over his door. “Poor Trust is dead!

And Bad pay killed him�

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Impressions of Royston First Impression Mrs. D. I . Hague.

The village of Royston was unknown to us in 1946; we had never seen it on a map and could not even find it on the maps of Yorkshire in the old school atlas, which I must admit was decades out of date. After five years of a grim and bitter conflict the time had come for us to seek jobs and somewhere to live.

My husband was given explicit directions on how to reach Royston where he had been summoned for interview for a professional post in the village. But of course at that time there were no signposts at any crossroads as all had been removed for the duration of the war and not yet replaced.

Twice we took a wrong turning but eventually entered the village from the lower (i.e. the eastern) end, through the pit yard. I was very critical of the surroundings and I decided that I had never seen so much brown and green paint and coal dust. Surely we couldn’t settle here!

But settle we did.

The causeways were in need of repair but were crowded with people who looked hardworking and happy. Living over the shop (Bunniss, the chemist’s, on the Wells) was just another reason to stay.

A lasting memory is the squeal of the brakes of the early morning pit paddy and the clatter of the miners’ clogs as they ran to join their comrades for the first shift of the day. They would not see daylight for another ten hours!!

Sadly, in the year 2002, there are no such sounds to gladden the hearts and minds, and the village is cleaner but less crowded. But in spite of all the improvements I think that the yesteryears were more enjoyable.

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The National School in the 1950’s - some jottings Diane Hague (now Mrs. D. Godfrey, Haverfordwest) Miss Glaister,

Infants’ teacher Always wore flowered smocks and often stood with her thumbs tucked under her armpits - if you can imagine such a thing. I can’t do it now with arthritic hands,

Mrs Connolly

Always had sweets for us.

Mrs. Hall

Very strict

Miss Butterwood Very kind. I was the Angel Gabriel in the Nativity Play and wore one of her nighties - very frilly and lacy, probably very old, even then.

Mrs. Collier

Very strict. Caned me for throwing stones.

We had a green blackboard all along one wall with the dates of the centuries written along the top.

Mr. Williams

The first male class teacher we’d had. Used to throw the blackboard duster.

Mr. Bagshaw

Was the head teacher during my time at the school. He was a bit remote.

Nurse Westerman The nit nurse used to examine our heads behind the blackboard.

Dr. Henriques

Gave us inoculations and was very frightening.

She wore men’s clothes, I think.

Mrs. Cole

Was our “lollipop lady” and used to shout at us.

The various vicars who used to come and talk to us. I remember Mr. Jubb, Mr. Leavey and Mr. Law. The school had a trip to Edinburgh - a major undertaking. I remember the Castle, Holyrood House, the Forth Bridge and especially the Zoo. An elephant took Elizabeth Knowles’ coat.

The penguins smelt awful.

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I remember a trip to the York Mystery Plays - a total mystery to us. I was sick on the coach going there and they had to stop at the Brotherton Fox and give me soda water. It was a hot day and I got sunstroke. I ended up sick and delirious for several days.

One onerous duty was to take the slops from dinner to Mrs. Chambers who kept pigs. It took two of us to carry an aluminum tray with handles down the road to the pigsty at the back of their house. Mrs. Chambers always gave us sweets, but as our hands were already covered with custard, stew and rice pudding we never liked to eat them, I didn’t anyway.

The school toilets were horrible. They flushed automatically twice a day and so we were terrified to go in case we were sitting there when it happened. There were no lights and the paper was hard and shiny.

The school photographs were taken in front of a sheet hung up in the toilet yard. We never had a group or a class photo - I don’t know why. I’ve never seen any photographic record of National School children. I don’t recall any of the teachers photographing us.

I well remember being called Natchy Bugs by the Midland Road school children.

We used to be taken to an open-air swimming pool at Cudworth which was freezing.

I remember that whenever there was a funeral at the church opposite we all had to go round the back chanting, Funeral!

Funeral! Round the back!

I joined the Girl Guides and we used a converted railway carriage down Godley Street. I seem to remember a tiny Catholic Church down there, a tin church.

I remember the Remembrance Day parades. There was at least one band - the Salvation Army - and a long procession with people lining the street.

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Floss and Ethel Andrews had the drapery shop on the Wells.

As the shop was on a slope the floor inside sloped up to the counter so that Floss and Ethel were towering over us behind their wooden counter. I used to have Fair Isle jumpers from them - Bairnswear brand. Floss and Ethel both went to church. Ethel sang very loudly, wore furs and toque hats like Queen Mary.

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My Memories of Royston during World War Two Jean Holliday I was born in 1935, my parents were divorced when I was four and I went to stay with my grandparents on Station Road.

When war was declared I was at Royston Junior and Infants School on Midland Road. My earliest recollections of my school days are of the teacher putting tape criss-cross on the windows and shelters being dug in the field at the back of the school. We were issued with Mickey Mouse gas masks in cardboard boxes which we carried slung round our necks on string. We had to have cod-liver oil every day at school and took our own spoons which had different coloured wool wound round the handles so we didn’t get them mixed up. We had to stand in the line in the cloakroom, as there were washbasins there, while the teacher filled our spoons with oil. We were supposed to swallow it but I think a lot of it ended up down the washbasins Rationing was on, everyone had a ration book with so many coupons in it for food and sweets and dockets for clothes and furniture. Sweets were in short supply so we made do with wood-liquorice, kali and malted milk tablets which we got from the local chemist on the Wells. I never had a banana ‘til after the war, I must have been nine and I had to ask what it was.

I remember being woken up by the siren, which was on the roof of the police station on Station Road, when there was an air raid on and listening to the radio - In Town Tonight, Tommy Handley, Victor Sylvester and his Ballroom Orchestra, Valentine Dyall as the Man In Black, and Dick Barton Special Agent with his pal Snowy. Playing in the street with a whip and top, a shuttledore or two-ball on the wall of the house, there was no traffic only horses and carts. The only car I can remember was when I was ill and Dr Pare came in his chauffeur driven car. I believe my granddad paid, possibly a couple of pennies per week, to be on his panel. I also remember going to the local picture house, the Palace, on a Saturday to the kids’ matinee and being crammed in, three 106

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kids to two seats, to watch Flash Gordon and Gene Autry. The films sometimes broke down so we would stamp our feet and shout, “Put a bob in”.

On Sunday I went to Sunday school at the Methodist chapel on Midland Road which was run by Mr Westerman. His daughter Esther, who was also the local music teacher at the junior and infants school, and Mr Tune played in the school choir and Sunday school choir.

I loved the anniversaries, as they were known, my favourite song was about a trout swimming in a brook. Sunday concerts were held in the park with Royston bands playing. There was also the Hospital Sing and the Whit Walk with the chapel, when all the local churches, chapels, local organisations and local businesses paraded round Royston, I think we ended up in the park. It was a special event for most of us. We had new clothes which were our best outfits until next year, they were usually bought with a Co-op cheque paid for weekly, the money being collected by a lady called Miss Howe.

My Uncle Albert, who lived at the same address as me, made me a sledge for the winter snow and he used to pull me on it along Station Road. When we got to Yardley’s mansion, which is now the Grove Council offices, we would toboggan down Well Hill to the Wells and into Church Street. My Uncle Albert worked for the Co-op Dairy as a milkman and in the winter when it snowed heavily he would borrow my sledge and deliver the milk on it.

Opposite my grandparents’ house to the left was a field known as Smith’s Orchard. On the same side was a row of houses which were known as number whatever, Common Lane. My friend Joyce Hindmarsh lived at number four and the Smith family, who owned the orchard, lived at number one. A lane which ran down the middle of these fields was known as Common Lane, it was later built on to become Northlands.

When the apples and pears were ready the Smith boys used to climb the trees and shake them till the fruit fell off then we used to gather it in buckets. In the winter when it snowed and there were no cows on Parker’s field, Joyce and I used to put 107

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on our wellies to be the first in the deep snow to make footprints and we used to roll the snow into huge snowballs.

In the summer we would go for walks with friends to Bluebell Wood which was between Bleakley and Notton and up to Appledy Cloughs, as we called it, it was farm land with hills to one side covered in grass and trees. You could swing over a stream at the bottom where we used to paddle in the water.

During the six weeks summer school holidays half a dozen of us used to walk through Appledy then over some fields to come out by a farm onto the road and down to Woolley Dam to have a picnic, usually bread and jam or dripping sandwiches and we’d take a bottle of water. There was a place on the far side of the dam where you could swim, there were some rowing boats and sometimes an ice cream man would be there. If you went on Sunday with your parents you might get lucky and have an ice cream.

Woolley Dam, at that time, was possibly the only place kids got an outing to. There were no seaside holidays, if you were lucky and your dad was a member of the local club and paid his dues you could go on the club trip, usually a day at the seaside on a fleet of buses to either Cleethorpes or Skegness.

When you arrived you got a meal, usually in a church hall, mainly sandwiches, jelly and cream, a bun, a drink of tea or pop and some money to spend from the club committee.

As we got older and into our teens there was the Bunny Run on Midland Road. On Saturday and Sunday nights the boys would stand in shop doorways and the girls would go walking by, the boys would whistle after them hoping the girls would stop and talk to them and maybe end up getting a date.

Looking back on it all, even though there was a war on, food was scarce and there was not much money, we had a happy childhood. I think we were a lot happier than the kids are today.

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Gardening at the Grove The following is a transcript of a recording of a talk given to the Royston History Group by John Mason in September 2001. John was born in 1933 and from the age of four until he was fourteen he spent every minute of his spare time at the Grove helping his father who was head gardener.

Transcript by John J Jackson The Yardley family.

The people living in the house were Mr and Mrs Percy Yardley and their only child Norman. Norman’s claim to fame was being the English cricket captain for many years. Norman went into the army and while he was in service, he injured his leg. I’m not sure what happened to his leg but it was thought that Norman would never bowl or play cricket again, but he did.

Norman was educated at St Peter’s school at York and then went on to Cambridge University. At one time I had some of his diaries which were written while he was at Cambridge but I can’t recall what has happened to them.

The household at the Grove consisted of two, sometimes even three, living in maids and there was a cook and a housekeeper, or perhaps this was one post - this was so many years ago that my memories are a little vague.

My father was not the sole gardener, he had an assistant - a Royston man called Ronald Airies whose last living address was on Midland Road opposite the chapel. Ronald was also my god-father.

National Service days came along and disrupted everything at the Grove, Ronald went into the RAF and after that for a long time my father looked after the garden on his own. This amuses me when I think how many people it took to look after Locke Park.

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Not only was my father the gardener, he had to be Jack-of-alltrades. He had the cars to look after, the bell system and many other little things that are too numerous to mention.

My father’s dedication kept things going and often took him back to work at night at about nine-thirty and sometimes even as late as ten. He lit the boilers, closed the greenhouse windows and adjusted the ventilation systems. He worked seven days a week and didn’t have a holiday in fifty years.

Once when he couldn’t get out of bed over a period of about two days I, at the age of ten, went to fire the boilers and adjust the ventilators in the greenhouse.

I grew up with the work my father did and, by the age of twelve, could just about do everything that needed doing in the garden. When the Parks Department moved into the Grove’s gardens - it did not quite work the same after that.

In historical terms, the house is not of great value, it is not what you might call an old house, in fact, it has a time span of about four generations. To get an insight of the house, you have to look back to the period in time when it was built.

It is a mystery to me why somebody so wealthy would want to build a house that must, in its time, have seemed like the equivalent of Buckingham Palace in a village that was full of poverty, only had mining and half the people suffered from malnutrition. Why choose Royston to live when they could have chosen anywhere. I’ve thought about this for many years and it is still a mystery to me.

Yardley was a property owner who owned quite a lot of property in Royston. I don’t know whether the Yardley’s properties were there before they had the house built or whether the properties were built after that. One thing for sure is that Yardley had his own shops and it is generally known that he had the old Co-op building at the Wells where the post office is now. Other than that Yardley was a gentleman of leisure.

As regards friends, Mr Yardley’s closest friend was Mr Dransfield who lived at the corner house opposite the Midland Road police station. Although he lived in a very modest house, he was very much a gent. Many of you may know he 110

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had a factory that made washers, screws and nails in Royston’s Summer Lane. Like Dr Pare and one or two of the other notables that lived round here, he wore spats on his shoes and white kid gloves.

Although Dransfield* came from a different life style to Yardley, it wasn’t so peculiar that they struck up a friendship, for both men held some form of social power. The fact that Dransfield came from a smaller and more modern house didn’t seem to matter. *The history group is aware that Dransfield and Yardley were cousins. Percy Yardley’s mother was Annice Dransfield - Ed. Another friend of the Yardleys, was Mr Shaw (probably called Frank) and his family who came from Barnsley. Mr Shaw was some kind of a financial accountant and adviser to Barnsley Brewery.

Another family which had connections with Barnsley Brewery, whose name I can’t remember, were regular visitors to the Grove. They spent as much as two weeks at a time there and seemed to come at will. These visitors had two daughters who became teachers, one called Christine, still lives in Barnsley today. Apart from that I can’t remember many visitors staying at the Grove who were close friends.

Having said that, because of Norman Yardley’s connection with cricket, the Grove was regularly full of Australian and English cricket team players. Local people were unaware of them being there or they would probably have asked for their autographs. Although many children who lived in Royston would have given their right arm to have met the players I was unaffected by their presence for I had no interest in sport what-so-ever.

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Victorian standards Standards at the Grove were very Victorian. The correct way the grounds were laid out was one example and standards inside the house were another. Anyone who has read Mrs Beeton will recognise the tradition that was adhered to.

Everyone living at that time knew their place, they all knew who did what and who would boss whom around. Of course there were articles and books written on what a good house should have. The pattern in the household was similar to that you will have seen on TV programmes such as Upstairs and Downstairs and Victorian Kitchen Garden.

The Grove’s gardens, at the time my father was the gardener, were more complex than you can now imagine. They were laid out in such a way that they appeared to be three times larger than the land that made up the estate. There was no overcrowding at all and the garden looked spacious.

Referring back to the Upstairs Downstairs period for a moment, again things were quite different to what people might imagine. For instance, the garden was the gardener’s domain, Mr Yardley would sometimes go down to the greenhouse and knock at the door while he stood outside and asked my father if it was all right for him to enter. For all his wealth Mr Yardley would not dream of entering without permission, it was not the done thing in those days. Mrs Yardley cut flowers on a daily basis but would not dream of cutting any until the gardener gave permission for them to be taken.

The cook gave the gardener her daily requirements but if my father said she could not have something, for it may not be at its best, she simply could not have what she had asked for the gardener dictated who was going to have what, there was no doubt about that. Looking back at it now it all seems very funny but at the time it was all perfectly natural.

The house had a definite pecking order. I was extremely fortunate for I did not fall into this order, I was not a servant and had complete freedom to go everywhere and do anything.

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One of the things wealthy people had at that time were Laurel trees. Depending on the species, this tree could grow twenty foot in height, it was thick, dense and hid all manner of unsightly things from view. In this case it was placed straight in front of the kitchen window so that you could not see people with their sleeves rolled up doing dirty tasks at the other side of this thick and dense plantation. The whole place was set out so that no manual work could be seen in progress. The same thing applied to making the coal fires - no one had to be seen making them.

The grounds.

The main lawn was about the size of a football pitch and at the far side was a huge border, the full length of the lawn. This border would be filled with wallflowers or Geraniums and the time would come - long before they were past their best when they had to be taken out. Everything would have to be dug out and the whole thing replanted with new plants which took all day to do - it would often be ten p.m. before my father finished the work he was doing.

It did not occur to me at that time but, since I’ve had time to think about it, this work was always done when Mr Yardley was at the races. Percy would come home in the dark, go to bed, get up next morning, see the flowers planted out and say “What a marvellous display I’ve got out there.” But the master never actually saw the work being done.

Hedges were strategically placed so that no one in the house could see what work was going on behind them. Of course there was a coalhouse and toilet but no one from the house could ever see them. The design of the garden was such that everything was very cleverly hidden from view.

The front of the house, which most people think is the back, faced onto a large lawn. There was a roundabout there, with a flowerbed in the middle. Cars could come to the house by this route, turn round, and go away again.

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The Yardleys had three cars. Owning three cars gives some idea of the wealth this family had at that time, for there may have only been three other individually owned cars in the village. In those days, there were few petrol stations and garages so petrol was stored in the boot of the car and packed into the Yardley’s own garage. Today, this sort of thing would be considered dangerous, you could even be sent to jail for hoarding flammable liquids.

Although one of the cars was the size of a hearse, with beautiful interior walnut panels, Mr Yardley hardly ever used it.

He was very down to earth and drove around the village in an old open top Morris 8 which had cracks in its discoloured celluloid windows. In fact you could hardly see through them but that was the car he preferred to knock about in.

The other two vehicles were very large and were not used much, I remember they had huge batteries fastened down on their running boards. They were probably large to cater for the energy that was used from the headlight bulbs which were as big as a bulb we use in the house today.

Self sustaining.

In many ways houses the size of the Grove were selfsustaining. If you look at the Grove, you can see there is a very large roof area. At that time all rainwater from the house was collected and stored in underground tanks.

In the main greenhouse there was an underground tank which was full of soft water and all day long water was taken from this tank in watering cans. I believe that if I’d fallen in to this tank I might never have been able to get out again. There were tanks in other places too, a huge one in the middle of the vegetable garden and there was an old fashioned hand primed water pump, thousands of gallons of water a day must have been pumped out of these tanks. Even if the Grove’s water had been cut off for a long period of time it would not have mattered - watering could have gone on as usual.

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Much of the watering was done by a crude invention called a watering cart which consisted of an oval tank about four feet high balanced on a pull-along trolley which tilted and rocked as you tried to move it. For a young boy the weight of water was very difficult to manoeuvre up and down the garden.

The house, like many of its day, did not have electricity. The cost of putting in a mains cable to the house from the main road was so high that Mr Yardley did not even contemplate having it put in - gas, coal, coke, petrol or manual work took care of their needs.

People at that time, or so we would consider today, were very wasteful. The throw away society, as we call it, is not new. I can remember fifteen or maybe twenty ornate oil lamps and probably more than twelve oil paintings, at least five feet across, all going on the bonfire. Some of the things going on to the bonfire, even in those times, must have cost as much as one thousand pounds each.

Some of the facilities.

In the kitchen, there was a large fire grate and the oven had so many doors it is impossible to remember how many there were - they seemed to be everywhere.

When it was time to go to dinner everybody in the household was summoned by a gong which must have been about four feet across. The sound resembled what you might have expected the Arthur Rank gong to sound like - you might have been able to hear it in Pontefract! The sound was accentuated by it being in the tiled hallway, which, to this day, you can still see.

All year round vegetables.

It was always the job of the gardener, at a big house, to make sure that there was a range of vegetables to eat all the year round. Not just one vegetable, several might be asked for at any time. It was not the done thing to go out and buy your own food, if a vegetable was asked for, and was out of season, the gardener had to work round this problem - it was his job.

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Carrots, for example, would be buried in sand, if there were no carrots growing at any time, a spade was dug into the sand and out came a pile of carrots in perfect condition. My father had to do many things like that.

Helping in the garden.

From a very early age I learned how to do everything in the garden by example. It was rare for me to have to be told to do anything - I simply got on with it. If my father decided to dig the rose bed, which was about eight times larger than the average room, I would start to do the digging on my own. This might now seem an unnatural thing to do but, at that time, it was taken for granted that the work needed doing.

I used to dig around the pathway that went round the house, there was a border on each side of it which was eight foot wide and took over fourteen days to dig. The lawns alone took a whole day to cut and they needed cutting on a regular basis.

Behind where the community centre is now, there was a spectacular rose garden. All the beds were different shapes like Ss and Cs. The grass path between the roses was three feet wide and took at least four hours to mow. The petrol mower had a twenty-inch blade and could travel up to speeds of twenty-five miles per hour. You can imagine how difficult, when achieving these speeds, handling the mower would be while trying to turn round in the allocated space. It was important not to touch the Victorian roses with the mower because they were very valuable.

In the middle of the rose garden was an enormous fountain the size of a modern room and shaped like a crown, it had fish coming out in all directions with water coming from their mouths.

Some of the rocks, in the garden and round the fountain, were sandstone but there were also rocks that were brought in from abroad such as Island Spar which is a beautiful rock in the sense that it glistens and shines in the sunshine.

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It was obvious that experts had designed the gardens, for the whole place was a maze of little tunnels and passages.

Laurels and variegated Ivies were all over the place forming arches and creating mystery corners. You had to duck your head to get into these areas, to a child, the place resembled a fantasy world where it was easy to lose yourself for a time - I used to take the maids for walks and lose them in these areas!

Changes for the war.

When the war came along there were many changes at the Grove. The first thing to happen was that two of Mr Yardley’s cars were requisitioned to be used as fire engines. Tow bars, portable pumps and ladders were fitted. It was a crude way of getting equipment to the fire but what alternative was there?

You either used what was available or you did without.

Unfortunately, when the cars left, they were never seen again.

Another thing to happen was that a lady came to the Grove to measure the land for the war effort. She had to assess whether or not it was large enough to use as a place for essential food production. The land was measured but said to be a quarter of an acre too small. As soon as that happened, my father’s gardening days were numbered!

The conscientious gardener, who meticulously cared for the gardens seven days a week for many years, was suddenly moved out of his tranquil environment into the harsh and hard environment of the screens at the local pit. Working in the screens was backbreaking work, it was where stone was removed, by hand, from coal as it came from the pit bottom on a belt system. My father had never been in a pit yard before and found the pit work quite an experience.

Of course neglect affected the garden and someone had to be found to do some of the garden work. All the able bodied men had either enlisted in the army or were working at the pit for the war effort. Eventually, an old man was given the task of seeing to the Grove’s garden. This man had no gardening experience and had to learn by his mistakes. You can imagine that the garden was soon to loose its magic feel.

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My father had been doing the work of seven men, working long hours to try and keep abreast of the tasks he knew needed doing. Within a short time of him leaving the garden it went to seed and never really recovered.

When the war started, my father refused to dig up his own garden lawn to build an Anderson Shelter. Instead, when the air raid sirens sounded, we walked across to the Grove and went into a room where the Billiard table was. There were lots of bottles in the cellar, enough to have kept us going for months, obviously, it would seem, the billiard table was preferable to the cellars!

Mr Yardley was the local Chief Special Constable and, every twenty minutes or so, he would walk across to the Grove from the police station to tell everyone what the state of alert was.

They were well informed as to what was happening, I can remember an incendiary bomb dropping at the side of Parker’s Field where the Home Guard had some sort of arms dump that was covered in sand bags and faced the police station. Fortunately, the bomb missed the ammo! I was in the Billiard room at the time the bomb came down. There was no noise but there was a huge flash, fortunately, that was the closest I came to a bomb in Royston. For the most part, the village was unscathed - but that is another story.

The map of the Gardens c1940.

At this point John referred to a drawing he had distributed.

See page 124.

The map only shows the upper half of the Yardley property. At the other side of eighteen was a field. The triple line on the right hand side was a ten foot wall that went right down to the Wells and to the left of the map, there was another large field, all part of the property.

To give some idea of scale, two shows a lawn area that was the size of a football field. This lawn, at the front of the house, was used for all manner of things such as Lawn Tennis and Croquet. The pitch was marked out with white lines for many 118

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different purposes and kept in immaculate condition. At the back of the house, there was another large lawn. At the far right of the house there was yet another. Further to the right of this lawn there was a huge tree with bulbs planted underneath.

Four and five were drying lawns. When laundry had been washed and put out to dry on clothes-lines, hedges provided a screen so that any work going on could not be seen from the house.

Twenty was the service entrance where things could be left without the Yardleys seeing the service men. Visitors could stay in the Grove a week and never know what work was taking place there - they simply could not see what the servants and gardeners were doing.

In front of the hedge facing the house was an apple tree hedge. The branches were grown in horizontals to make a thick dense fence. Nine originally a greenhouse, had been turned into a potting shed, the shaded area in front was a trap door that coal was poured into. Ten was a greenhouse and the two buildings were heated by a Robin Hood boiler that let out enough heat to keep a moderate sized school warm. The boiler was below ground level so you had to climb down an iron ladder to get to it. The hedged area, round eleven was made of Ivy and used as a screen so that the pile of coke could not be seen.

Seventeen at the far end of the map was a very large tea room which had huge tea making machines such as you might find in large restaurants. The equipment was designed so that the service was fast and it was used for garden parties. Inside the tea room there was an ornate Chinese room but by my time the room was not used and was already in neglect.

Eighteen in front of the house was an L shaped field.

Sixteen was a huge flowerbed which went right down to the Wells and I have marked where there was a Scots Pine which, at that time, was very rare indeed. Under the pine was a huge bed of lily of the valley flowers.

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Six, seven and eight were more greenhouses. The dotted line shows where greenhouses were built onto others. By the way, one man built these greenhouses, the man’s whos name was Mortimer was an undertaker. I used to do anything I wanted in these places. Cutting wood and banging in nails or anything - I was not interrupted.

The back part of six was a Vine House. When the vines wanted trimming, it was a whole day’s work. The two shaded areas of this block are actually raised beds or a greenhouse without a top. The beds were full of soil and there were arches going into the greenhouses. The reason for this is that the gardeners of that time believed you would only get a good crop of grapes if the roots were exposed to frost. So the grape vines were planted into the raised beds and trained to grow into the greenhouses, in effect, the roots were outdoors and the vine’s fruit was under glass.

Seven and eight were very different types, these greenhouses were buried in the ground and had sliding roofs. If needed, you could open half the roof, these were specifically for growing cucumbers. There could easily have been fifty a day ready to be used if they were needed. The back end of seven was modified to grow mushrooms. The reason for all the selfsufficiency is that when the Yardleys wanted something, they expected it there and then.

If you now look at fourteen the R stands for rhubarb and A stands for asparagus. Incidentally, there were lots of spare ornate chimney pots lying round and these were put to good use to cover the Rhubarb.

Each of these sections covered an area about the size of an average allotment. One of these, the one next to the R, was reserved for growing fruit. Gooseberries, Raspberries and Strawberries were grown there, it may not look large on the map, but it was. The other three sections were for vegetables.

There may have been as many as six varieties of peas so that they did not all come at the same time, using different varieties of peas, the growing season was extended by months and so it was with all the other crops.

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Thirteen, which was used as a garage, would have been a stable at one point. It had a long sliding door with small buildings at either side. Above the garage, there was a small door where hay had been stored for the horses. Inside this loft room was an Aladdin’s cave, there were toys, old telephones and row upon row of fruit trays that were stacked on top of one another. Fruit was stored in the trays until it was needed.

The Yardley’s also owned, and rented out, a field where hay was grown which, when it was gathered, was made into bales that were tied together in sheaves. Dr Henderson, who used to visit his patients on his horse and who had been known to jump from one garden to the next when going from one patient to another, used the hay for his horses. A bit of a character was old Henderson! He used to remove tonsils on the tabletop at the patient’s house.

My father, as well as looking after the Grove’s gardens, gave gardening advice to local people. Sunday mornings were taken up advising gardeners, with large gardens, how to cut back certain plants. In truth if my father said something needed doing to a certain plant or tree, you had to do what was asked of you. If he said that potatoes should not be planted in certain areas, you did not grow them there again. I do not know how it came about that he went round wealthy gardeners’ homes and how he found time to do this is beyond my comprehension.

Twelve on the map was an area of about six cold frames used to harden off plants that had come out of the greenhouse before they could be planted out. There were also row upon row of chrysanthemums. Watering these rows used to take three hours. To put the plants into the soil, round the lawn at two, the pots had to be carried on something that resembled a six-foot wide stretcher. This was a two-man job. It was a good job that I was a strong young boy or this task could not have been done.

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chimneys, was saved and used on the roses. There were other unsightly things in there but the hedges shielded them from view.

To the right of lawn three was the main gate and to the right of that was a single gate. The single gate was large but beautifully balanced and was opened with a large pin key with an open eye at one end. When you went in through the gate, there was a huge dark rockery in front of you. The stones were two and three feet across. From there, no matter which way you went, there were huge arches to go under. You went twisting this way and that which all added to the mystery of the place.

There was another rockery further down this behind where the Bethel stands now. This rockery was cut out in trenches and to enter the trenches, you had to go under an arch. It was a wonderful place for a child to hide because you wouldn’t have seen anybody’s head that was in there. I was so lucky - I had a complete run of the place and keys for every lock.

Finally, close to number 20, there was a wine cellar but it was actually stocked with ice-cold beer.

There were dangers too. Some people today would think that it was irresponsible to have things like cyanide and arsenic on the site but, at that time, gardeners used these chemicals every day, I used them when I was helping my father. If my father had seen me walking down the garden with a shotgun, he would not have batted an eyelid because, like using the chemicals, it was the norm of that time. I did all the things that were done in those times, it seemed the most natural thing to do, but I did them sensibly.

When you grew up knowing that you could not be a silly little child you could not be silly. So, my childhood was a bit unnatural and I never really recovered but compared to other children of that time, you could say I lived a charmed life.

In those days, it was a wonderful life for people of such standing in society. Stature was quite different to how people envisage it to have been. Mr Yardley, on a summer’s day, 122

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would bring my father a silver tankard of ice cool beer on a silver salver and place it down for my father to drink when he was ready. You were treated with immense respect because that is the way you treated servants and gardeners in those houses in those days. Having said that, the master of the house had to be obeyed - if he said he wanted something doing it had to be done.

1 THE GROVE. From John’s memory the top left ground floor was the Breakfast Room. Top right was the Sitting Room. Mid Right was the Snooker Room.

2 BIG LAWN. This is what it was referred to as.

3 2nd LAWN. 4 DRYING LAWN. For laundry drying and screened from the residents by the screen hedge.

5 2nd DRYING LAWN. 6 GREENHOUSE. Leading upwards to Vine House. To either side of the Vine House were two open raised beds (shaded areas on map). This enabled the vine roots to be exposed to the weather.

7 MUSHROOM SHED. 8 SUNKEN CUCUMBER GREENHOUSE. 9 POTTING GREENHOUSE. 10 GREENHOUSE. 11 OPEN COKE YARD. Surrounded by screen ivy hedge and showing coke chute as shaded area on map.

12 BEDDING PLANTS. 13 GARAGE. There is a photo of this in the COMMA Archive and shows the garage just prior to its demolition to make way for the car park for the Civic Hall and Swimming Pool. The dots to the left of the garage on the map, indicate where the old Stables and Haylofts stood, backing on to Warren Walk.

14 FRUIT AND VEG PATCHES. Top left, asparagus. Bottom left, gooseberry and other soft fruit. Top right, veg. Bottom right, rhubarb and peas. An apple tree fence screened these.

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15 SHRUB AND TREE SCREEN. 16 TREE. SHRUB AND ROSE BED WITH LILY OF THE VALLEY. There was a Scots pine at the lower comer of this border. Rockeries were also a prominent feature at the top end, made up of quite unusual and expensive rocks.

17 LARGE TEAROOM. A herbaceous border ran up to the tearoom.

18 FIELD. This is now the site of Well Hill Grove.

19 PALM HOUSE. This can still be identified, as the tiled floor and clean section of wall still exist on the west side of the house.

20 SERVANTS ENTRANCE. 21 KITCHEN. 22 ESTATE WALL.

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The Second World War in Royston One Child’s View Dorothy Wilson I was brought up in Royston from being a baby living at 227 Midland Road, a two up and two down terraced house like most others in Royston in those days. From the outside they all looked the same but inside they were all so different, each stamped with the personalities of the family who lived there.

The one thing most of them had in common was the pride to make their house look clean, tidy and welcoming, they were not bothered if they didn’t have the best furniture or rugs.

The back of the row was divided into four yards, the first three had six houses each and ours, the last one, had seven.

Across from the houses were the coalhouses and the lavatories or lavvy some had to share but the bigger families had one to themselves. Our row was called Ball’s Row after the man who owned it or Robin Hood Terrace.

Outside our yard Dad, like a few more people there, had a long back garden. It was a lovely place, in the front part he had flowers, a green house and a few canaries in a shed.

Beyond that he grew vegetables and then right at the top it was fenced off and he had bantam hens and a cockerel which was a vicious thing. I didn’t like him he always tried to peck your legs, we also had a big horrible toad his name was Hector and he jumped high.

Of course this was 1931 and we just had one cold water tap, gas lights, set boiler, black leaded coal fire and oven. It was hard work being a wife and mother in those days and being a husband and dad wasn’t easy either - working down the pit that’s when they had work to go to, but it was the same for most people we knew.

My grandma and granddad Wilson lived three doors away from us and my aunty Dolly and her children lived in the top yard. We had more aunties, uncles and cousins living further down Midland Road - quite a large family on my dad’s side.

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Eventually there were six people in our own house - Dad, (Septimus, Sep for short), Alice my mam, myself, then Mabel (two years younger), Charles (Charlie) then my little sister Alice - that was my family.

There was an opening at each end of our yard and if you went to the bottom and down the stone steps, there to the right was a long terrace called Poplar Terrace it was quite a long row with little gardens up to each house, my sister Mabel’s friend lived up there.

Just above where my dad’s garden was there was a house - a big stone built house called Robin Hood House, with large bay windows at the front, one of which I managed to accidentally break with a stone. It was aimed at our Mabel and I blamed her for it because she moved as I threw it, but my dad didn’t see it that way and I was in a lot of trouble. I had to apologise to the lady and had to forfeit my pocket money and pull weeds in my dad’s garden and every other rotten job they could find for me. Let’s say I had no spare time for months - I didn’t throw another stone ever again.

At the side of the big house there was spare land called The Bare as there wasn’t much grass on it, it was pretty solid ground and everybody from streets away came to play cricket, football, fly kites, ride bikes or anything they wanted.

Above the Bare was Jubilee Terrace where my friend Doreen Mitchell lived so we were at each other’s houses all the time and went to school together. Down from there was Grayson’s, who lived in our yard, fenced plot of land where they kept hens. At the top end of our row there were a few more gardens then the abattoir. We used to see the cattle lorries drive up on a certain day of the week and the animals pushed in - we weren’t allowed up there while the lorries were there.

There was one time when we had a bit of excitement, a bull escaped - it jumped a gate and broke another one down then ran down Midland Road into the cut (canal), there were loads of men after it. It got out of the cut into a field and when they tried to catch it, it jumped back into the cut and swam to the 126

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towpath on the other side. This went on ‘til next day when the bull was exhausted.

The front of our houses were pretty high up and we had steps to climb up to the front door. Across the road was the Cooperative, a large building on the corner, then on the other corner the Miners’ Institute. Going to the Co-op with my mam for the big weekly shop with our list - always a list - was a complete waste of time for me, it took so long, everything had to be weighed out from huge canisters unless they had some already done. Sugar, flour, butter, lard etc. all in thick blue paper bags and the butter cut in pats and patted out into grease proof paper. The bacon - you picked which you wanted, streaky, lean or smoked, had to be put on the slicer and cut to whatever thickness you liked. They sold just about everything and it all took time but the assistants were quick and very helpful. It was a very long counter and there were chairs for the older people to sit on.

Then it was all reckoned up (aloud) and you gave them your number so that you got the divi on it twice a year, we all knew our numbers off by heart. We’d pack our baskets, or the assistant would, and then go home, put the shopping in the pantry and my mam would probably start making bread or baking after the fire had been stoked up to get the oven hot. It took a long time to bake bread as there were different stages to it which couldn’t be rushed. First a cup of tea - the big black heavy kettle was always partly on the fire so it didn’t take long to boil but first the teapot had to be warmed with hot water before the tea could be mashed you couldn’t just flick a switch like today.

Down past the Co-op, going towards the bottom of Midland Road, was Dr Pare’s house, he had his surgery there as well.

If I remember rightly Mam and Dad paid so much weekly to have his professional services if anything happened or if we were sick. Just past his house my aunt Annie and uncle Price Jones and cousins Harry, Sonny and Doreen lived. Down further was all houses and Bird’s cake shop, then there was the canal, usually with a coal barge on it which I could have watched all day but I was usually going an errand. Past the 127

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canal on the left was the Ship Hotel and behind that were the gasometers with railings round them, very high they were.

Further down on the right was the railway station then you could walk up a hill to Monckton Terrace, a long row of houses dominating the sky line. Then the pit and the muck stack that rose higher still, you could see it from all over Royston.

On our row there weren’t many girls of my age, there was Florence (Flo) Duggan, Marie Shaw and Bessie Hitchen who was a little bit older and lived next door. In the next yard there were the Kennet girls but they were older too. However, there were plenty of lads, so as I was a tomboy anyway and happy in my old clothes, I could play rougher games with them.

We’d get our old bikes out, mine was a sit up and beg bike and I loved it but it hadn’t got any brakes so I wasn’t allowed on the main road. We’d go up the Bare then ride down the fields past Common Lane and on to the old railway line to climb trees and swing from the branches. Then past the fields with the cows hoping they weren’t being taken to the farm for milking, I was scared of cows but I couldn’t let the lads know or else I’d never live it down. We had good fun, till I got home, and I was always filthy, of course if my dad asked -then I’d only been riding my bike down the fields!

Sunday was a pretty boring day although we went to Sunday School at the Methodist chapel which was up past the infant and junior school on the Lane, as Midland Road was called.

We wore our Sunday best clothes which we had to change when we got home, then it was dinner time, then change back into our Sunday best for an afternoon choir practice.

Sometimes after chapel if it was a nice day my dad would get his walking stick and take us for a walk up to Ryhill or maybe along the cut looking at all the wild flowers in the hedgerows and the dragon flies and money spinners on the cut. Then back home, change clothes and have our tea. There wasn’t a lot we were allowed to do on the Sabbath, we could go into the front room and read the books from our bookcase, we had loads of books my dad had bought for us and he always encouraged us to read them but we daren’t turn any corners down, we had to use a book mark.

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Monday we’d get up for school and Mam had been up since five thirty; getting Dad his snap ready for the pit, filling the set pot boiler with water, lighting a fire under it, getting the posser, washboard, dolly tubs in and the big wooden mangle out from under the window. She had a large green block of washing up soap and the dolly-blue for the whites and she’d taken the rugs up so if the water spilled it was on the stone floor flags.

The first lot of water went in one dolly tub and the white clothes put on the rubbing board then put in the set pot boiler to boil, then it was light coloureds, then darker, then last of all Dad’s pit clothes.

We’d come home at dinner time on Mondays to an easy dinner. As Mam was busy, it was usually vegetable soup and mashed taties. By this time the whites had been boiled, rinsed and mangled and were ready in the wash basket to go out if it was fine, Mam would ask me to go outside to see which way the smoke was blowing and whether it was black or white, I only had to go into the back yard and look up towards Monckton pit and it was there for all to see. Then Mam would decide whether the whites went outside or not, she didn’t want soots all over her clean washing.

Then we went back to school and when we came home Mam would just be washing the floor and putting the rugs and matting down. If we’d had lamb for dinner on the Sunday it was shepherd’s pie with loads of vegetables to make it go further - but we were always well fed in our house.

My earliest recollection is of going to school. Mam had told me that Marie Shaw, who lived two doors from us, was going to school so I wanted to go too but I was younger and couldn’t.

However, I could walk up to the school and see her go in, so Mam, me, our Mabel, Marie and Mrs Shaw set off up the Lane to the infants’ school but when we got there I wanted to see her right into her class with the little chairs they sat on and all the pictures on the walls. I thought it was lovely, anyway, the teacher said that as she hadn’t a lot of new pupils that morning I could stay ‘til dinner time. I would probably have had enough by then and my mam would take me home. It didn’t work out that way, after dinner I went back up to school with 129

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Marie and Mrs Shaw who told Mam she’d bring me back after she’d dropped Marie off, but I wouldn’t come home, so that’s why I started school before my fourth birthday and I (nearly) always loved school.

My time soon passed in the infants and then it was up to the juniors - that’s when it got a bit more strict, having to work harder, reading and writing, I liked those but didn’t much like arithmetic. But I coped.

I enjoyed my bottle of milk every morning, doing PT in the assembly hall, games on the playing field at the back of the school and arts and crafts. We had one teacher who helped us to do a play with marionettes, we had to make the heads with papier mache and let them dry before we painted them then we made clothes and put them together on their strings and wooden hangers. I learned how to make them move and walk while someone else said their words. I loved that, mine was called Isaiah, as one eye was higher than the other - very appropriate I thought.

I didn’t like the medical examinations we had when the school doctor, dentist and nurse came to check us, especially the dentist. We had to sit lined up on chairs in the corridor then one after another go into his room to be told whether we had to have teeth out. I hated him.

Then up to the modern school which I really enjoyed all the time I went there. We went up the school drive with the boys but that’s where it ended, the boys went to their half of the school and the girls into the other half. I thought it was a beautiful school with its quadrangle in the middle and corridors all the way round with classrooms off from them. Best of all I loved the domestic science rooms, having a full day cooking, washing and all the other things we learned to do, set you up for life.

The school had a big hall with a wooden floor and a stage at one end. It had doors opening outwards into the field where we did PE and games and where the boys had pigs and other animals they looked after. The school also had a lovely library 130

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where we could sit and read and a canteen where they cooked the school dinners. It was a lovely school. There was one important rule - no running in the corridors which were half glass so that it was light and airy and we could see the quadrangle on three sides. We used to play shinty in the big yard at the front of the school - it was a very busy and active place.

Coming home from school we walked past the other two schools and there were shops of all kinds on Midland Road.

Butchers, sweet shops, bread and cake shops, the cobblers (I loved the smell of leather in there), clothes shops, shoe shops, food shops, chemists, the Palace picture house and even a pawn shop with its three brass balls on a sign hanging outside (I never could jump high enough to touch the sign), fish and chip shops, paper shops, off licences and working men’s clubs (the Bush and Midland Road Club) you could buy anything - if you had the money.

Sometimes coming home we’d go down to the park. It was a huge park with a bandstand complete with brass bands on some Sundays. It had bowling greens, tennis courts, loads of swings and roundabouts, climbing frames, lovely flowers in the gardens, grass to walk on and a paddling pool. There was even a pavilion where you could sit to watch people playing bowls. The lads played cricket and football in a field on the other side of the railings. The lawns were always cut lovely we had some great times, everyone was catered for.

In those days the milkman came round with his horse and cart and if you went to him with your jug to get a quart of milk (or as much as you wanted) lovely creamy milk was put into your jug and then put onto the cold slab in the pantry at the top of the cellar steps. Then on some days the fish man, with his mussels, whelks and other sea foods would come round and my mam would go out with the ladling can for a quart of mussels for my dad, he loved them for his supper. Other days you could hear the rag and bone man shouting down the back streets and we’d take any old clothes to him. We got more for woollens, usually a donkey stone for the steps, you picked the colour yourself, and a balloon. If we were lucky we got a few pennies.

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Then sometimes the pie and pea man would shout, or the hokey pokey ice cream man in the hot weather. We didn’t always get one, we had no money, but we could always get strawberries when they were in season as everyone seemed to grow them. There were plenty of orchards near our house, round the back of Poplar Street we could get a bag full of apples and pears for a couple of pennies. We usually got a Saturday penny to spend on spice (sweets).

At different times of the year we played different games on the flagstones outside our house. Hopscotch, marbles, whip and top, skipping and we always played two ball against the house wall. Then there was a craze for roller skates, it took a lot of begging and pleading to finally get Mam and Dad to get me a pair - no pocket money for weeks ‘til they were paid for. When I got the hang of them there was no stopping me - I wore them out on the causeys (pavements).

I remember when they started making a new canal bridge, one that rose up so that the barges could get under, in my mind I couldn’t figure it out so I kept going down to see what was going on. I don’t know how old I was but I know I was very interested in the new bridge we were going to have, so when it was to be formally opened I was in the crowd with my friends and half of Royston, some on both sides of the bridge waiting.

It just looked like an ordinary road with pavements with the difference that there were barriers at both sides, some officials were stood in the middle of it and some were busy doing other things. Suddenly there was a shout and the road and pavement were leaving both sides and going up - slowly - but going up. I was amazed how that heavy bridge could be lifted like that - to me it was like magic. I was just sorry that I couldn’t be on the middle bit and have gone up with it, I would have loved that. Then we could see the water in the canal under the opening it had left. I don’t know how high it went before it started to come down and then everybody clapped and cheered - I suppose some thought it wouldn’t work. I thought it was great but I would have still liked to have been on the bit that went up.

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There were some lovely Christmas presents in the shops when we were young and half the thrill of Christmas was looking at the things we would get, if we were lucky. There was a sweet shop, in a box, with little jars of sweets, scales to weigh them, small bags to put them in and a small cash register. Then there was a post office with all the things that they have in them. Printing outfits which had rubber letters to make the words up, an ink pad, ink and paper - that was messy. Chocolate selection boxes but with cigars, cigarettes and cigarette holder all made in chocolate and loads of other things - dolls, prams, Meccano sets, trains on tracks, it was good looking in the windows.

One day Mam was busy making tarts and goodies for Christmas so my Dad said he would take me and Mabel to Barnsley to see Father Christmas and off we went. We looked round then got our presents which were wrapped up and we weren’t allowed to open them. You could see from the shape of Mabel’s box that hers was a doll but my box was a deep square one which rattled a bit when I shook it but Dad said not to do that as something might break.

That done, Dad noticed there was a spiritualist meeting on and decided to pop in. He sat us on the back row and told us to be quiet, which we were for a while, but being about five and seven years old it was pretty hard, especially when we had our wrapped presents in our hands. Dad had gone nearer the front to hear what was being said. Mabel wouldn’t open her present so I decided I’d tear a bit of paper off mine just to have a little look, what I didn’t know was that it had a lid that just popped off easily and it did - all over the floor - a child’s tea set, cups, saucers, plates, spoons, teapot, all over the floor. What a noise, everyone in the place looked round. I was trying to put them back in the box and Dad was hurrying towards us trying to get us out of that meeting as quickly as possible and he’d certainly lost all his season of goodwill towards me.

But these were cosy days, I remember that in the cold Winters Mam used to get a hot oven shelf wrapped well in an old blanket and put it in mine and Mabel’s double bed to make the 133

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bed lovely and warm when we got in. The smaller two kids got earthenware water bottles filled with hot water to warm theirs. There wasn’t any heating in those days except for the fires downstairs.

I was nearly nine when there was talk of War in Dad’s paper and on the wireless. Me and Mam went up to the shop in the Lane to get some new batteries as the ones we had were going flat and our wireless sound kept going lower and lower.

Mam said we’d better get them changed as we would have to listen to the news to hear what was happening. Of course us kids didn’t know what war was - only cowboys and Indians fighting at the Saturday matinee. Anyway we got the batteries, we had to be careful with them as Mam said they contained acid. My dad fixed them in the wireless when he came home from the pit, before he had his daily bath in front of the fire in the tin bath with a blanket on the clothes horse round him for privacy. They hadn’t built the pit baths then so he came home mucky. We had our baths Friday nights, other nights it was a wash down against the sink.

War was declared and the war effort started. First the blackout curtains for the windows and the fanlight above the door, no lights lit in the streets and everyone had a gas mask in a cardboard box with string attached which you had to carry at all times. Everybody’s gates and railings were sawn down if they were made of metal.

Young men had to enlist for the services or be Bevin Boys down the pits. The older men and women could be ARP or Home Guard, my dad went into the rescue squad. Food went on ration and we had ration books, even sweets, clothes, bedding and shoes needed coupons. We didn’t feel it much at first but as things wore out or clothes got too small for us that’s when we noticed. Nothing was wasted, it was all for the war effort. People who had never kept hens before started because you couldn’t get eggs, just powdered egg which I got to like, it was all yellow but you couldn’t dip your bread in it.

We all put sticky tape on the insides of our windows in a diamond pattern so if there was a bomb blast the windows 134

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wouldn’t get blown out in one piece and hurt someone. The air raid sirens and the all clear were tested so that we got used to it. There was an air raid shelter built up our backs which we never used because our row had the cellars strengthened and my dad built a metal bed down there in case there was an air raid in the night, which there was quite a few times. Mam and me used to get the younger ones down the cellar with some old blankets and coats and they soon settled back off to sleep.

Me and Mam would sit close to the cellar door and cut old coats up into small pieces ready to peg our rugs. We always had one on the go and we all helped to separate the different colours - black or a dark colour for the edging, then mixed colour on the next part and so on, it was all thought out.

Sometimes we had to stop work on a rug and wait ‘til we had more strips of cloth. My dad often went away with the rescue squad to ports like Hull, if the Germans were bombing the ships and he could be away quite a while.

We all learned to queue for everything, especially the butchers, a few sausages a bit of rabbit, a bit of shin beef, anything he’d got, but you still had to give coupons and money for it and when it was gone that was it! A meatless dinner again - a stew with loads of different veggies and perhaps a few dumplings if you could get suet. Even kids would queue.

A pal would shout that Buckles had their chocolate and sweet ration and we would ask our mam for some money and our sweet ration book, then off we’d run to try to get something anything! Sometimes we did and sometimes when we got to our turn and they’d sold out - that was awful! So we’d go round the other sweet shops to see if they’d had their rations as well - we didn’t give up easily.

One night the siren went and we heard the planes which were very close overhead and very scary. That night they nearly got Monckton pit but the bomb fell short into a field nearby and made all Royston’s windows rattle and houses shudder. It left a massive crater - it must have been a whopper the size of the hole it left. Everyone was happy when the all clear went in the morning but it didn’t matter if you’d been up all night you still went to school as normal - you just got used to it.

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My dad was very good at carving and whittling wood and he made our Charlie an aeroplane which he painted and put markings on - a bomber I think it was. Anyway, he started making different kinds of planes and parents came and asked him if he’d make them for Christmas presents for their boys because you couldn’t get toys. Our front room started to look like a shop, he kept all the different planes that they’d ordered ‘til Christmas Eve when they collected them. It was nice when they’d gone and we had our front room empty for Christmas, because our living kitchen wasn’t that big.

At this time with all the darkness - no street lights or lights from people’s houses - everyone had to have a torch to go anywhere. It was really bad when it was foggy and smoggy, which it often was but we had to keep our torches pointing downwards to the floor, never let them point upwards as any little light could have been seen by enemy aircraft. We never had our torch on unless it was necessary as it was expensive to keep buying batteries.

We had lovely bonfires on bonfire night but when the war started we had to have them earlier before it got too late and too dark. Our yard had a large, joint one at our end where there was more room. Every house did something towards it: one mam made parkin, another potato pie and peas, another bonfire treacle toffee. We had potatoes in the oven and some for roasting on the bonfire. We all had our own fireworks which the dads let off and us kids had our sparklers. We had a glorious night, we went to bed not so clean and very full and everyone had got rid of their old chairs and other rubbish. We weren’t in smokeless zones in those days all we knew was smoke - it was all around us every day.

During the war we had to have coupons for clothes and shoes.

One day one of my friends said that Westnedges, a shop on the Lane, had some coloured clogs which you didn’t need coupons for, so I went to have a look and find out so that I could tell Mam a proper tale, otherwise she wouldn’t listen. I found out price, sizes, everything before I tried to get round Mam. Anyway she said she’d ask my dad about them and we did need new shoes so that was in our favour.

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Dad said we could try some on, so off we went, Mam, Mabel and me. When we came back I had green leather and Mabel red leather ones. They had rubber on the wooden soles so they didn’t make as much noise as proper clogs and we loved them once we got used to them. The only trouble with me was that I couldn’t run everywhere because I kicked my own ankle and made it sore. We were so proud we had them, the only thing was they didn’t bend when you walked and also your foot slipped off the pedals when you were riding your bike but you soon got round that - we put our old shoes on it didn’t matter if we scuffed them up.

Our Charlie was a lovely lad and I loved him and looked out for him but he was a tormenting little devil. Sometimes he would take one of my balls to play with or some of my best glass allies (marbles) to swap for something else, he even took my roller skates. I threatened him with what I’d do.

Anyway, one day we’d gone down to the canal with Dad, at the bridge we were looking over into the water, it was the deepest part there. We’d just got to the end of the bridge and he kept running round the back of me, trying to push me in and he wouldn’t stop, I told him he’d better give up or I’d do the same to him and Dad told him as well but he just laughed and started again.

Eventually I lost my temper, picked him up and threw him in straight away I realised what I’d done! Dad, Mabel and the other kids that were around all looked at me but I was looking for Charlie, after what seemed like ages for him in the water he came up spluttering and my dad hauled him out dripping wet. I was terrified but the little devil started laughing and said that it was good in there and he’d seen some fish.

Of course Dad went mad with me but all I could say was that I was sorry, and I was. We took him straight home, got his clothes off and Mam dried him down and fussed over him she played pop with me and said I should have known better. I couldn’t go out the rest of the week and they never let me forget it and neither did the other kids.

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It was great when the feast came to Royston, it went in the fields down by the church and the Ace picture house. They soon got the rides up, the cocks and hens, the swing boats, the hoopla stalls, the slot machines and the stall where you could win a fish. There were loads of things to eat as well.

The hard part was getting round Mam and Dad for the money to go, we were all very good and did what they told us so that we were in their good books. We knew they would give us so much and no more - when it was gone that was it. We made it last as long as possible but when it had gone we enjoyed listening to the music they played on the rides and walking round all the stalls. It got packed mostly with families on Saturday for a couple of hours ‘til the little ones had to go home to bed. Us older ones could stay longer but I was always late - running up through the park and along the Lane, I loved the feast, ‘til they packed up and went on to the next town or village.

If the pit hooter went off it meant there had been an accident at the pit. All the wives of the men who were at work were scared and gathered outside with the other women to see if they could find out what was wrong. One time my dad was involved. Some tubs had slipped and he was trapped, he was rescued bruised and battered with the first finger of his right hand smashed up and partly hanging off.

It was decided that the finger would have to come off, not at the hospital but at Dr Pare’s surgery. Dad was brave, he didn’t have anything to numb the pain, it was taken off down to the knuckle. Dad nearly fainted, who wouldn’t, and he was left with a stump on that hand and for a good while after he would keep knocking it on things - so there was quite a bit of swearing in our house for a while.

I was always fascinated by the gravestones in the churchyard, I used to like to read the names and how old they were. I particularly loved the bigger ones - the tomb-like ones which were higher. I used to read how many people were in them, sometimes there were babies and children one or two years 138

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old who had probably died from measles or something they couldn’t cure in those days. I got told off and not to come in to go and play, the churchyard wasn’t for children to wander round in. I was only looking but I was turfed out and told not to come trampling on the grass again - so that was off limits.

There was always a Girl Guides troop but it was only for girls who went to church not to the chapel, so I was surprised one day when it said in the Parish Magazine that girls who lived in Royston and went to chapel could join if they were suitable. I asked Mam if I could, I was about eleven years old, and she said yes but told me not to be disappointed if I didn’t get accepted.

I went down to the vicarage at the stated day and time, down the drive with all the trees, there were a few girls waiting and we had a few tests and the guide leader asked us why we wanted to join. My answers must have been all right because I was told I could start learning to become a guide. I was thrilled. We learned how to tie knots, how to wear our uniforms, the Girl Guide oath to the king, the salute, how to behave at all times and how to build a fire in the open air. We went down to the vicarage every week - in the grounds under the trees or if it was raining we used a room in the house.

After a few months we were ready to be sworn in and make our oath to the king which was a very solemn occasion. We had an important person from the Girl Guides there as we went up one by one to say our piece. I could hardly wait to see the photo of us girls after it was over - we were so proud.

Sometime after that, with our parent’s permission and our tents, we went to camp for a week on the other side of Barnsley. It was near a farm and barn and it was hard work but very exciting, cooking basic food outside which tasted good in the fresh air. We had to fill our palliasse, that we had to sleep on, with straw out of the barn. That wasn’t very good, it pricked your legs but it didn’t matter, it was camping and sleeping in tents - not much sleeping more talking after we’d sat round the camp fire - it was great. After a couple of days, I remember, we went to the village to buy stamps for the 139

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postcards we had written to our parents to let them know how we were getting on. One girl went home as she wasn’t very well - homesick probably but the rest of us roughed it and loved it, it was freedom to me - away from everyday life.

I remember another thing that happened at school, about September, October time when I was nearly thirteen. The headmistress, Miss Parker, got all of the older classes in the hall and told us that the farmers in the area hadn’t enough men or boys to get their potato crops in and if any of us were willing, and our parents would let us, the ones that were good school attendees and were up-to-date with their school work could do it. It would be hard work but we would be paid and we would be helping the war effort.

Mam and Dad said I could go if I wanted to so I took my signed form back. We were to start on the Monday morning.

We had to wear old warm clothes, good strong shoes and gloves as it was cold first thing and frosty some mornings.

There were boys and girls in our group and we all had to go together with our buckets and sandwiches. The farmer’s wife would brew up for us at dinner time and we would eat at the barn. It was about a mile and a half to walk and we went through a wood on the way, we were all laughing and talking then down to the hard work.

The field was ready, the soil turned so that the potatoes were starting to show, we had a row each to start picking. Filling our buckets then emptying them in long trailer ‘til it was full, we had to knock the clumps of earth to see that we hadn’t missed any. The farmer kept his eye on us as he came to take the full trailers away. As the morning went on the weather brightened up which helped.

By dinner time we were ready for our tea and sandwiches and our backs were aching. The farmer said we had done a good job up to now but he wanted the whole field cleared up before we left at four.

Walking home that day we were all pretty quiet and aching all over - backs, legs and arms, still carrying our buckets to start 140

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in another field the next morning but we were helping the war effort in our own way for our king and country. We got all the farmer’s potato fields cleared for him and he said we’d done a good job. It had been a hard mucky job but we went home with our money clutched in our hands and felt how good it was to have really worked for it. I don’t remember how much I was paid but I gave it to my mam but she only took half and said to spend it on what I wanted to. I probably went to Barnsley market to get a few Christmas presents for my family, they had lots of things there.

In the war years, as the seasons came, there was plenty of different fruit. Everybody saved their jam jars for bottling, pickling or making jam so we had plenty of chutney and fruits for pies in the wintertime and onions and gherkins and even eggs if the hens laid well, we had plenty of things to fall back on. One thing that came in with the war years was Spam, in tins, it was similar to pork luncheon meat and you had it with everything: salads, fried with powdered egg and even battered. We got to like it because we didn’t get much meat which was like getting gold. If you had a tin of corned beef or salmon that was put away for a really special occasion. Even us kids learned how to make things, like a bit of cocoa, powdered milk, a spoon of sugar all mixed up to dip our fingers in, it tasted a bit like chocolate if you had a good imagination.

One day Dad had been to Hull with the Rescue Squad after there had been heavy bombing there. He said he’d brought us a surprise - an orange each! Six in all. We hadn’t seen one in years but they had to be eaten in the house, it wouldn’t have been fair to show them to our friends. We thought we’d struck gold - the taste of that orange was wonderful - the best one I ever had!

We could get plenty of apples and pears as there were orchards all over Royston but I liked to get the most for my penny so I looked at the prices on the way to school. Some houses had trees in their back gardens and would sell them at the back door but I waited ‘till after school to buy them so that I could take them straight home.

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Well! I went to this house - my penny burning a hole in my pocket - I was going to get as many as possible for it. The lady showed me the baskets she had picked that day and there was one of them full of lovely rosy small apples, very tempting so I decided I’d get a lot more small ones for my penny, which I did - a big bag full. I was so proud of myself, I went home and showed Mam how many I’d got for my penny, she smiled and said I should pick one to eat now seeing that I’d so many. So I had a bite off the one I liked the look of - big bite and soon spit it out. Was it sour? It wasn’t a baking apple, it was a crab apple for making marmalade and things, it was horrible!

There were a few children who came from the cities to stay with relations and to get away from the heavy bombing and they came to our school. One came from Birmingham and she talked so different to us, in Royston you never heard people with different accents it was a novelty. She was called Joyce Bayliss and lived up near the police station with her relations, we became friends for the rest of the time she was in Royston.

Then the Americans came to a base near Barnsley and a few started coming to Royston. Now they talked funny to us!

They didn’t have rationing, they had chocolate and chewing gum, they never went short of anything that we noticed, but they’d give some to anyone especially us kids, so most of us were chewing and that was all right by us. We didn’t mind being friendly, we weren’t daft us Royston kids - Yorkshire born and bred and proud of it and we liked to think we helped, in a small way, to win the war in Germany.

In December it was our Mabel’s birthday and we were also getting excited about Christmas, we were allowed to go carol singing as long as we stuck together, which we did.

When we got some money from singing we bought paper chains to decorate the house and helped Mam put the tree and all the other decorations up. It was exciting, we were busy writing letters to Father Christmas and throwing them up the chimney hoping they wouldn’t drop back onto the fire and 142

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burn. Usually one Saturday before Christmas Mam and Dad took us to Barnsley to see the decorations in the shops and streets and to one of the big shops to see Father Christmas and get a present. We all looked forward to it and if it snowed all the better, it was magical - the lead up to Christmas wondering if we’d get what we really wanted. Mostly we did and we got nuts, an orange, an apple and a three penny piece.

If Mabel and me had money from carol singing we bought things for all the others and wrapped them up in secret as a surprise. We did it upstairs so that no one knew, I think Mam had an idea but if she did she never said. We also helped Mam bake the mince pies, jam tarts and lemon curd tarts.

She made lovely pastry - lovely short crust - she always said that you needed cold hands to make good pastry. The only problem was, we had to fetch more buckets of coal from the coal house across the yard to keep the heat up in the oven, then move the fire guard and bank it up at the back so we could just rake it down when we needed more on the fire.

It was worth it because if any of the tarts broke coming out of the tins we got to eat them - we liked that bit. Alice would go to bed, then Charlie before Mabel and me went. First we went to the lavvy across the yard as there was no bathroom, only chamber pots under our beds for use in the night. At the back of the lavvy door, the paper was on strings - newspaper cut into squares hanging on a nail, no toilet roll in those days, sometimes tissue paper if we were lucky.

We were lucky really we had everything we needed if not always what we wanted but we were pretty healthy most of the time and we had each other and loads of our relations in Royston and roundabout.

This was one child’s growing up in Royston.

Sadly Dorothy Ralph nee Wilson died on December 3 2002, shortly after writing this story. Ed.

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Being Frank Recollections of life in a Yorkshire mining village 1910 to 1945 Frank Evison Foreword Dad wrote these memories at intervals between 1971 and 1991 in a neat elementary school copper plate that changed little over 80 years. With very few alterations they have been arranged into a coherent record of life in Ryhill during the reign of King George V (1910-1936) with a postscript to include the Second World War. There is much that I was not previously aware of; similarly there are some familiar tales of his that have not been included. I have not been tempted to insert them, as they would not have been his words.

This account was never intended for publication, neither was it conceived as a whole. It evolved as it did to satisfy my curiosity about the past. It began life as answers to questionnaires to provide first hand information for projects on life in Royston and district covering the years 1896 to 1945 conducted at Royston Church School between 1971 and 1976. The answers were short and to the point in order to be manageable by top year juniors. The descriptions of life in the home were amplified considerably a little later. The publication of the two volume history of Ryhill in 1981 and 1989 was the stimulus for Dad to move out into the village at large as well as to record his childhood and early working life.

As there were fair intervals between each session of writing he returned to some of his favourite topics adding further details, altering others, so that some items are composite pieces in order to incorporate as much detail as possible.

This is neither an autobiography nor a family or village history.

Instead a keen eye, a good memory and a fondness for writing have produced a fair account of what it must have been like growing up when the twentieth century, itself, was still young for someone who was “ born on 13th November 1906 within sight and sound of the Ryhill and Wintersett Station on the old Great Central Railway . . . “ Jim Evison - Spring 2002 144

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Contents Part 1: At Home in Station Road 1906 to 1928 The house; Housework; the Daily Routine; Shopping; Shops in Station Road; The Valley; the Village Station; the first cars; the first buses.

Part 2: Childhood and Carefree Youth 1911 to 1926 School days; Choir boy; Saturday Pictures; At Play; Feast Weekend; The Great War 1914 -1918; the first council houses.

Part 3: A Colliery Labourer - of necessity but reluctantly 1920 to 1966 School leaver; the first years 1920 -1930; the last years 1953 -1966.

Part 4: Ryhill, Havercroft and district in the 1920’s Some old houses; Mill Lane; Cow Lane; Lodge’s pit; around the reservoir and Cold Hiendley.

Part 5: Touched by events - a scrapbook of the times 1911 to 1945 1911 Coronation; Tensions in the coal industry; Home Front 1939 to 1945; Getting the news.

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Part 1

AT HOME IN STATION ROAD 1906 - 1928 The House The house we lived in when I went to school and for about ten years after I started work was the end one in a terrace of twelve houses. They were known as two up and two down.

The two upstairs bedrooms were reached by a narrow staircase which had a sharp turn in the middle. The front bedroom took two double beds, a dressing table and a washstand. The washstand had a large jug for water and a bowl, also a soap dish and a kind of vase for toothbrushes.

These utensils were pottery ware with a wide pink band round the middle and a very narrow gold band each side of the pink.

The washstand also had a rail at the side for towels. The other pottery ware of the bedroom consisted of two chamber pots of the same pottery and colouring as those of the washstand. There was no upstairs toilet only an earth closet in the yard. The floor was covered with a square of carpet surrounded by oilcloth. The back bedroom was only small and could only take a double bed, the floor being carpeted. There was no room for a wardrobe; the clothes were kept in tin trunks.

The two rooms downstairs were the living cum dining room and the kitchen, or scullery as it was called. The kitchen was where all the work of the house was done such as washing clothes, preparing food and mixing ingredients for cooking and baking. The actual cooking and baking was done in the living part where the iron fire range was, complete with oven.

Vegetables were cooked on this iron range on which the kettle was boiled for making tea. This saved using the gas on the gas ring. If there were gas ovens in those days working people could not afford them. The kitchen had a shallow stone sink with only a cold water tap. There was not a hot water system; any hot water had to be boiled on the fire range for washing up. There was no bathroom. All baths were taken in a large zinc bath either in the kitchen or in front of the fireplace with water heated in the set pot or copper as it was 146

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called, especially if it was a large family, or else heated in large saucepans on the fire range. The copper was in one corner of the kitchen and the sink and cold water tap in another corner under a rather narrow window. On the opposite side of the kitchen was a door which led into the pantry which was an enclosure underneath the stairs.

Between the sink and the boiling copper was a table where all the food was prepared and also it was used for the ironing.

The ironing was done by flat iron heated on the fire. Between the copper and the door into the house was the mangle with its large wooden rollers and large wheel to turn by hand to squeeze all the water out of the clothes. The clothes were bashed clean with a peggy stick and a galvanized rubbing board which had narrow corrugations to rub the clothes on fixed in a wooden frame. All this meant hard work and much twisting of the woman’s body. Soap was used, and ordinary soda for getting the clothes clean, and boiling water - no fancy soap powders.

As I said the iron fire range was in the front living/dining room.

It was a large black monster which had to be black-leaded every week and its steel parts made to shine like silver. This was on the left side of the room as you went in from the kitchen. At one side of it were two cupboards which reached to the ceiling. The small cupboard underneath was for odds and ends of the house like clothing, boots and shoes and tools. The large top cupboard housed all the best crockery together with sugar, tea, salt, pepper and other commodities which had to be kept dry. On the other side was an open corner where the sewing machine was kept. This brings us to the front wall of the house with a largish sash and cord window covered with net curtains. Underneath this window was the sofa covered in carriage cloth. Then came the front door. By the wall dividing us from next door was what was called the dresser - they are now sideboards. This was a large piece of mahogany furniture which was kept highly polished. Then there was the corner by the door from the kitchen where the dining chairs stood. In the centre of the room was a large dining table; there was also an armchair and a rocking chair in this room.

The kitchen was entered by a door which led straight in from 147

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the yard. By this door and to the side was the door which led upstairs.

As mentioned the toilet facilities were brick built privies at the bottom of the yard which were earth closets with ash pits attached to them where all ashes, tin cans and other rubbish were thrown. There were no dustbins. Every so often men would come at night and empty these toilets and ash pits into carts and take the refuse to where it was treated. These were the night soil men. Coal was kept in a coalhouse outside.

House and kitchen floors were covered by what were called peg rugs made by pegging strips of cloth onto harding.

When we went into the council house in 1928 they had a similar iron fire range but it had a boiler behind for hot water for the taps on the bath and the sink. There was still the set pot copper but instead of two bedrooms there were three and no bend in the staircase. The windows were still sash and cord. There were water toilets instead of earth closets and the houses were semi-detached instead of being in a terrace.

Heating of both types of houses was by coal fires; lighting was gas. Rent for the terrace house was 5s rising to 10s a week and for the council house 12s 6d. The terraced house belonged to a private landlord.

Housework The weekly house cleaning routine started with the weekly wash every Monday morning. Mother would be up by 6 a.m. filling the set pot with water and shredding strong soap into the water with a knife if it had not already been done on the Sunday night. Then the fire under the copper was lit. This got the water boiling while she was having breakfast. When the water started to boil the clothes were put in and given a certain time to boil the dirt out. Then they were taken out, put into the peggy tub with more hot soapy water and given a few rounds with the peggy stick. If any clothes did not look clean enough they were well soaped and rubbed on the rubbing board until clean. They were then put through the mangle to squeeze all the water out. After they were all done they were peggied through hot clean water to rinse all the soap out of 148

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them, then put through the mangle again when they were ready to go outside and be pegged on the line to dry. A nice north wind was the best for drying. When the clothes were dry they had to be brought in, folded and put through the mangle to get the creases out. They were then put on lines across the house to finish the drying.

During the washing any white clothes were put into water with a dolly blue to make them whiter. Collars and any other clothes which required it were put into a bowl of starch to stiffen them.

What with getting meals ready and scrubbing the kitchen floor out when the washing was done the whole process could take ten hours.

Tuesday was the day for ironing. This was done when all the other household chores had been completed - such as cleaning and dusting the house, getting meals ready and any cooking connected with the meals. It was also the day when the week’s groceries were fetched from the Co-op.

The irons were heated on the fire by placing them on a false grate which hung from the bars of the fire range and formed a shelf on which the irons were placed with their soles facing the fire. When hot enough they were taken off, given a quick flick with a duster to remove any dust which may have got on from the fire. The soles were then rubbed across a piece of soap to make them slide easily over the material being ironed. The ironing could take an hour or two depending on how many items required to be ironed. Standing all that time could be very tiring.

Wednesday was the day when the bedrooms were cleaned.

All the carpets were brushed with a bristle brush and the dust brushed into a metal shovel which was partly covered over to prevent the dust flying all over the place. This was called a dustpan. The bristles of the brush were made from slivers of whalebone. There was also a brush made of some strong fibre which could either be cane or coconut fibre. The bristles were strong and good for brushing carpets. The oil cloth (not 149

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lino which was hessian backed and more expensive) surrounds had to be washed. All the bedroom furniture had to be dusted and polished and the windows cleaned. The final task was brushing the stair carpet. This took the whole day when interrupted by routine daily jobs.

Thursday was bread-baking day when a stone of flour mixed with lard, yeast and a little warm water were all kneaded together in a large earthenware bowl until it became pliable dough. This was placed beside the fire to rise. When it rose and filled the bowl it was ready to be separated into greased loaf tins. They were placed by the fire to rise again. When they filled the tins they were placed in the hot oven to bake.

The kneading was heavy work. Where large families were concerned there would be two, sometimes three, baking days when large oven bottom cakes could be seen cooling on the kitchen window sills outside. They would be as far round as a modern car wheel. Pieces would be cut off, split and spread with butter and treacle and nothing tasted better.

Friday was black leading day when the fire range was brushed all over with black lead which looked like boot polish. If it was too stiff a drop of turpentine was mixed into it to make it spread. Then it was vigorously brushed to make it shine. Any bright parts such as the fire brasses (shovel, coal tongs, poker and brass work on the fender and ash pan) were smeared over with Brasso and then polished until they shone like silver.

This was another hard tiring task. Then the house had to be cleaned, the floors of house and kitchen given a thorough scrub out and the rugs shaken. This was the morning’s work.

The afternoon was taken up with cake and pie making for the weekend. If the housewife had no kitchen scales she would measure the ingredients by teacupfuls, tablespoonfuls and teaspoonfuls. There was a small baker and confectioner in our street, to have anything bought from there was like having a birthday party.

After tidying up and dusting, Saturday was another shopping day especially to the butchers. If anything was wanted which could only be got at Barnsley or Wakefield then Saturday afternoon was set aside for this shopping trip. People did not 150

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go to town as regularly in those days as they do now. They hadn’t the money for fares, besides if anything special was required then the Co-op manager would get it for you. Then there were the packies and the travelling greengrocers.

During the week these greengrocers would come round with as lovely fish as could be got in town.

Sunday was a kind of rest day for the housewife when only work that was really necessary was done - mainly the Sunday dinner the most important meal of the week when the joint of beef was cooked, Yorkshire pudding made and vegetables prepared and cooked.

In those days there were no wipe clean surfaces. Everything had to be scrubbed clean such as baking boards and tabletops. Tables covered in American cloth had to be washed down. There was no electricity, therefore no automatic washing machines, vacuum cleaners or electric irons.

Everything was done by elbow power, laundry soap, soda and polishes.

Spring cleaning had to be fitted into the ordinary week’s work.

This consisted of white washing ceilings, washing paintwork, rubbing down wallpaper. People did not paint and paper as often in those days. Every two years used to be the routine; sometimes it would be allowed to go three years if it had not got too bad. People could not afford the money for paint and paper every year; even those with money would allow it to go two years.

There was a lot of making ends meet. Socks were darned, those handy with knitting needles would knit fresh feet on stocking legs or even knit new stockings. Torn garments would be patched, sheets sewn ends to middle to make them last. Those with sewing machines would buy material and make pinnies and overalls or even simple dresses, especially those who had been taught sewing either at school or factory or taught dressmaking before marriage. Older brothers’ and sisters’ clothes would be passed onto younger ones after being shortened, especially where there were large families.

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Old material would be kept and cut into strips and made into peg rugs. Strips of material could be bought in the market for the purpose. These were all money saving jobs and part of the housewife’s working day. Most women did not have outside jobs they were fully occupied in the home. Besides there were few jobs for women in this area. When a girl left school it meant going into domestic service.

Children’s jobs consisted mainly of going errands, looking after younger brothers and sisters when mother was extra busy, washing up, dusting, peeling potatoes and chopping sticks.

The Daily Routine We used to get up for school at 7.30 a.m., have a wash, get dressed, then breakfast and off to school by 8.45 a.m. All boots had to be cleaned the night before. These boots were hob nailed, stiff leather for long lasting hard wear. When we came home from school after morning lessons dinner would be ready - no school dinners in those days. If dad was on afternoons or nights he would have his dinner with us. If he was on the day shift he would have his dinner when he came home after we had gone back to school. We always had a proper dinner. Dad’s shift work and meal times always came before the household routine. No matter what mother was doing, whether washing or decorating, everything was stopped to see that Dad had a proper meal before going on his shift.

Our bedtime when we were children was 8p.m. in the winter and 9 p.m. in the summer. The sun would be setting in summer like a golden ball, still shining beautifully, and we would be thinking what a shame to be going to bed when it was such a lovely evening. But we dared not remonstrate; it was bedtime and we had to have our rest for school the next morning. It also gave mother the chance to get work done she had not been able to finish during the day. Many’s the time she would be up until midnight. She has fetched in dry clothes in the moonlight during winter.

Our breakfast would consist of bacon and egg or fat boiled bacon and always tea to drink. We would have dry bread, no butter, with either type of bacon. Dinner consisted of meat 152

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and two vegetables with some kind of pudding to follow. If it was Yorkshire pudding we had it before the meat and veg.

When it was jam roll, ginger sponge, sultana pudding or a milk pudding such as rice, sago or ground rice it followed the meat and vegetables. Monday would be cold meat left from Sunday’s joint. If any was left on Tuesday it was made into shepherd’s pie; if there was none left we had fish.

Wednesday we had what was called fry which consisted of liver, heart, kidney or stewing steak and a piece of sweetbread. All these meats were cut into small portions by the butcher to make into a pound or a pound and a half depending on how much fry you required. Thursday would be meat and potato pie, Friday steak and kidney. Saturday’s dinner at our house depended on what shift Dad was working.

At that time he worked on the coke ovens. If he was on the day shift he would have to work twelve hours on the Sunday then we would have Sunday dinner on the Saturday. If he was working Saturday afternoon or Saturday night then we would have some kind of meat or sausage with the vegetables.

Mother made all her own bread. As many vegetables as possible were grown on the allotment and we had hens which kept us in eggs. Any hen which had finished laying was either boiled or roasted, as were any surplus cockerels. Mother made her own cakes, pastries and pies. These helped to save on housekeeping. All cooking was done by coal fire oven which was part of the heating range. Cooking utensils were cast iron pans and kettle, earthenware stewpot and dishes and brown earthenware teapot and enamel dishes.

These were bought from the travelling potman or local Co-op stores. Keeping food fresh did not seem to be a problem as we had a cool pantry which kept things well.

There was more interest taken in gardening; some regarded the tenancy of an allotment as an investment to help out the family budget both for growing vegetables and for keeping a pig. The pig would be killed later in the year by a man who had been a pork butcher but who then worked at the pit. The owner of the pig would hire his services. He would go to the sty with his butcher’s tools and a long wooden stretcher called a pig scratch. This had a pair of handles at each end to carry 153

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it and four legs, one at each end, to stand on. The main part consisted of strong wooden slats. The whole thing looked like a wooden bed without a mattress. After the pig was killed it was placed on this scratch and boiling water poured over the carcass. This was called scalding the pig and was to soften the bristles so that they could be scraped off. It was also used for cutting up the pig and salting it when lumps of salt were rubbed into the flesh to help keep the meat. We young ones were never allowed to see the actual killing. We would hear the squeals, then silence - we then knew that piggy had been turned into pork The salt was purchased from a man who knew what time of year to come round. On his cart would be stacked the salt in long white blocks about eighteen inches long and six inches square and cost, I think, somewhere between 6d and 1s a block. Housewives who had no pigs used to buy a block, break it up then crush it fine on the table with the rolling pin and store it in large jars or wooden salt boxes. They then had no need to buy any salt for another year.

The only recognition for birthdays was to be wished Many Happy Returns. Christmas dinner was always something special when we either had a cockerel or goose with Christmas plum pudding. One Christmas we had a cow’s heart stuffed with sage and onion forcemeat. For Christmas tea there was pork pie or a home boiled ham with Christmas cake, mince pies, cheese and caraway seed cake. The food was always good, well cooked and I enjoyed whatever it was.

Everything had to be prepared and cooked. The only packet food I remember were the peas which had to be soaked before cooking. Salmon, sardines, pilchards, pineapple, pears and peaches came in tins. Prunes were soaked before stewing and eaten with custard. Bananas, too, were eaten with custard and also with bread and butter. Radishes, lettuce and onions were grown by those with a garden and eaten with bread and butter for tea. During the 1914-18 war I remember having tinned jam which came from Australia. There were no easy ways of cooking, if you wanted a decent meal you had to be a good cook.

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You had to be your own doctor too and many of the cures of the day were concocted in the kitchen. My mother made elderberry wine and blackcurrant tea. There was treacle, vinegar and butter and Indian brandy and sweet nitre for colds; camphorated oil and goose grease for made up chests; castor oil, syrup of figs and brimstone and treacle for stomach ailments. The doctor was only called when really necessary when home remedies had failed. And when there were serious epidemics of scarlet fever, measles, diphtheria, mumps and ringworm. To have the attention of the doctor a family used to pay into the doctor’s club. The doctor had a man who used to come every week to collect the 3d subscription (which later became 6d). You had a club card which the man marked when you paid him and he had his book to enter the payment. Your name was entered onto the doctor’s list of patients so that when called he would visit you without charge.

Shopping What I remember most about shopping when I was a child was going to the local Co-op stores with my mother to help her carry the groceries home. We used to do most of our shopping there; we only went to the town when we wanted anything which was unobtainable in the village shops. The infrequent visits to town were mainly due to two things: money shortage and shortage of time - there seemed so much to do that a visit to town had to be planned. Also trains did not run every twenty or thirty minutes as the buses do today.

Going to the Co-op was something I hated doing; it was such a busy shop all the village must have been a member. Every Monday afternoon (or Tuesday, see p.176) my mother would wheel my barrow to the store and after school I would go there and see if she had been served. There was nearly always a crowd four deep waiting to be served. The shop was so long that eight people could stand the whole length of the counter being served and with those standing waiting their turn that meant as many as forty people in the shop with four assistants and the manager behind the counter.

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Everybody always seemed to want mounds of groceries as they had large families in those days so that the wait to be finally served took ages. On a really busy day I have known us wait for nearly two hours before it was our turn. Sometimes there would be an argument if someone suspected a person of edging to the counter before their turn. They would be serving them after closing time and as they were served the door would be unlocked to let them out but locked again so anyone coming after that time was not allowed in. My barrow came in useful because there were always four large bags to wheel home containing potatoes, flour, and corn and sharps for the hens while my mother carried two large bags of groceries. (This would be during the wartime shortages and rationing see p.182).

There were other smaller shops in the village where we went for odd items which we had run out of and did not want to be waiting at the Co-op for. My favourite shop was Anderson’s where we used to spend our Saturday penny. They had such a variety of lovely sweets that we had a difficult task when making our selection; even in those days a penny only went so far.

There were three butchers’ shops in the village. Only on rare occasions were we sent to the butchers on Saturday mornings, mother liked to see the weekend joint herself. On Thursdays after school I used to be sent with a basin for what we called penny ducks. They were always piping hot, nicely seasoned and tasted delicious. I do not know what else was in apart from minced meat, liver and savoury herbs and swimming in a lovely gravy. Every Wednesday we had tripe and cowheel. We had boiled ham and tongue when they could be afforded.

The butcher’s shop we went to, Harry Hammerton’s, was like going into a morgue. It had a cold looking concrete floor, the walls surrounding it were white tiled and there was a long chopping block in the middle. There were bars suspended from the ceiling with carcasses of meat hung from them on hooks. To one side and within easy reach of the butcher was a counter with lumps of meat from which the customers could 156

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select their joint. There was a window with pork pies, sausage, polony, black pudding, potted meat and brawn for sale. He also sold lovely scones. Everything in the shop was scrupulously clean; the chopping block, the counter, the wooden shelves were scrubbed white and the floor also given a good scrub. This scrubbing was done every Monday morning when you would see hot water and soap suds streaming out of the door.

Street hawkers included the block salt man, the rag and bone man, the ice cream man, the yeast man with his wicker basket in which he had his yeast and small weighing scales. When I was small these scales used to intrigue me, I would have been quite happy to have gone round with him and weighed the yeast for him. There were the men who travelled about with a box with a lid on or an oilskin pack selling buttons, threads, bootlaces, tapes, bobbins of cotton, cards of wool for mending stockings and cheap writing paper. Some had suitcases with items of clothing. Three or four came from Leeds every week by train and they were typical Jews with long black coats, black felt hats and beards. Suits could be bought from what were locally called “packies” (packmen). One, a Scotsman, came from Huddersfield, also by train. He would measure you for a suit and have samples of cloth for you to choose from.

He would have the suit made up in his own shop and bring it to you. You paid down what you could afford and his man came every week for the rest of the payments. Besides suits you could get bedding such as woollen blankets from him. We even had a man come from Wakefield selling drapery from a horse drawn covered van with sliding glass doors. He sold towels, women’s pinnies and overalls, underwear for both men and women and men’s shirts.

There were our local hawkers. They came round twice a week with greengroceries on open horse drawn drays illuminated on winter nights with an oil burning stable lamp.

Once a week they came round with lovely fresh fish on the same flat horse drawn drays - no cover over just open to the fresh air. These same two hawkers finished up with covered in motorized travelling shops. Then there was Old Seal from Ackworth, who came round with pots, paraffin and other 157

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household utensils on his cart, whose cry was, “Any pots?

Any china? Paraffin?”

To go to the town, as I have said, was a special pleasure and a treat to look forward to. We went about once every six months and this only occurred when we required new suits, boots or shoes of better quality than could be got in the village. We went by train after dinner and the fare was 6d return because we always went Wednesday, Friday or Saturday which were market days.

Shops on Station Road So most of the weekly shopping was done in the village unless something special was required and could not be obtained locally. Shopkeepers, then, kept most things people needed.

The main shop was the Co-op, where as well as groceries, you could get drapery, household linen, and even bolts of cloth for those good at sewing. If the Co-op had not got what you wanted the manager, on his weekly trip to Barnsley, would get it for you if you let him know what you required. The Co-op also operated a credit note scheme. You obtained the note from the local branch manager, took it to the central branch in Barnsley and got the item wanted. The article and price were listed on the note which was sent back to your manager to whom you paid so much a week on your purchase until you had paid the amount off - when you could obtain another note if you so wished. You also got your dividend (divi) on this purchase the same as for your groceries.

Joe Hampshire had a shop where he sold drapery, boots and shoes both for work and for best; he would measure you for a suit, would get it for you and you could pay for it weekly. He also ran a pawnshop, a little room at the side of his shop with a narrow ginnel to get to it, where some of these suits together with boots and even bedding or other household items found their way on Monday mornings (to be redeemed on Friday nights) so that hard up families could put bread in their mouths for the rest of the week. (Many used to walk to McLintock’s in Royston every Monday morning with their bundle). Salmon’s sold haberdashery, linen goods and ladies’ wear such as blouses and stockings. These shops, along with our 158

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butcher’s, were at the top end of Station Road between Lafflands Lane and Charles Street. There could also be found David Pinches’ newsagent and draper’s shop. He also sold toys and pocket watches. Next to him was the shop occupied

by Sam Sterry who did painting and decorating but where paint and wallpaper could be bought if you wished to do your own. Then came Hudson’s fish and chip shop.

At our end of the road the first shop that you came to after leaving the station was a bicycle repair shop owned by Charles William Hunter. He had a lame leg but could ride a bicycle. His parents owned a small farm at Cold Hiendley. He was a good mechanic. He finished his working days in the wagon shop at Monckton Collieries where he worked at the wheel lathe trimming wagon wheels so that they would run smoothly on the rails. After leaving his shop you would pass a row of three room houses. That is they had front rooms - a luxury in those days. If you ran out of anything and had not the time or inclination to go into the village there was the corner shop just across the road from our row of houses which would supply what you needed. Its gable end ran parallel with the side of the valley with a causeway running down the side.

At the back of the shop was a lower yard reached from the house behind the shop by steps. This was the first real shop in Station Road and was kept by Mr. Anderson helped by his daughter, Phoebe. The Andersons had migrated from the north east where they had kept a boarding house and where Mr. Anderson had been a union man. Their shop was what was called a general store. They sold everything - sweets, chocolates, fruit, vegetables, tinned goods and yeast. I used to be sent to fetch a pennyworth of yeast for my mother when she was baking and for other odds and ends she may have run short of instead of trailing up to the Co-op. Three or four doors further on was another small grocery shop. I have fetched flour from there when mother had run short. After a gap with a low yard came a clogger’s shop. He not only repaired boots but also made and repaired clogs. This was part time because he also worked at the pit. Adjoining this was what used to be a fish and chip shop but became a greengrocer’s - the first shop owned by Harry Cooper who went round hawking whilst his wife looked after the shop. In 159

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the yard at the back of these shops was Billy Harwood’s abattoir reached by a gap between them. There was another cobbler’s. Mr. Williams came from Wakefield every day on the 8 a.m. train and went home on the 7 o’clock evening train. At that time he employed two men as well as himself. At Christmas he sold toys for Father Christmas to bring. Next came Woodings’ barber’s shop. Mr. Woodings was also steward of the Working Men’s Club and employed a man to do the barbering until his son, William Henry, left school and learnt the trade and became old enough to take charge of the business himself. Finally there was Williams’ pot shop. Mrs. Williams looked after the shop while Mr. Williams worked at the pit. They had two daughters. The furniture shop was another business run by the wife. Mr. Yates worked at the local colliery as a pump man. A ginnel ran down the side of the pot shop giving easy access to the yard behind, in the middle, was Elliot’s bake house. Their bread was like home baked.

We had no need to go further into the village only when we needed stamps or postal orders from the post office. We could post the letters in our road there was a letter box set in the wall in the middle of Station Road.

The local builder was joiner, undertaker and wheelwright all in one. He made new farm carts, repaired ploughs and harrows.

Having a forge and anvil he could do a little blacksmith work but no horseshoeing. This was close to the school and we loved to stand and watch the sparks flying from the anvil in the dark interior of the shop. It was a thrill to hear the flames of the furnace roaring up the flue as the bellows were applied and to see the iron get hotter and redder. This builder also had a mill driven by a gas engine where the farmers used to bring grain to be ground for cattle feed. I can hear it now in imagination as it went shoo shoo shoo clang clang with a slow steady beat. He also sold timber, his being the nearest stocked apart from in town.

As well as the Working Men’s Club there were two pubs and two beer off licences. The beer was brought in barrels on large wagons pulled by three beautiful shire horses. There 160

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were steps behind some wagons and some had hooks to hang on to where we could sneak a ride if we could manage without the driver seeing us. If we were unlucky and were spotted his whip would come stinging round our legs. Beside the Co-op was a paved runway of stone blocks up which the wagons of corn, flour and potatoes were shunted to get the bags hauled up to the flour room but these large wagons were hauled by a steam traction engine. At the side of this runway stiff tar used to appear between the joints. We used to bodge it out and play with it. There used to be spare land at the side of the Co-op. A small fair and a rag and sticks theatre used it at various times of the year.

The Valley Walking along the path to The Valley at the side of Anderson’s shop was like going along a cliff top. As you looked down you would see in the bottom of The Valley a row of occupied terrace houses. You reached the bottom by following the winding path down. It was rather hard on the legs walking back up. There was a causeway in front of the houses and then an ash road. Across this road were some allotments stretching nearly to the station yard. They were for the use of the people who lived in the terrace. At the far end of the valley the railway embankment rose to a good height. If it had not been there the land would have merged into Wintersett fields that stretched to the reservoir and the bottom of Wintersett hill.

We used to stand on the top of the road or at the railings by the road bridge and watch the trains go to Wakefield or the wagons and vans being shunted into the station sidings ready to be unloaded. It was really fascinating to watch.

The Village Station The house where I was born overlooked Ryhill and Wintersett station on the Great Central line between Barnsley and Wakefield. It was very important to us living in a semi-isolated colliery village, as it was the only means of transport to get us to those two market towns and beyond.

The station had two platforms. The stationmaster’s office, booking office, waiting room and porters’ room were all situated on the Barnsley (down) platform. Passengers 161

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crossed over an iron bridge to reach the Wakefield (up) platform on which was a shelter for passengers and at its end the platelayers’ cabin. At the end of the down platform was the signal box. From this a bell was rung to announce that a train was due to arrive in the station. A short distance from the signal box was the stone and iron bridge which carried the road to Cold Hiendley. This was the western end of the platform. At the eastern end the sidings branched off the main line where there was a lifting crane and weighbridge. The station staff included the station master, two signalmen (one for each shift) three porters and the booking clerk. During the First World War these men, having been called up into the forces, were replaced by women except for the signalmen and Mr. Hinchcliffe the station master. There was a gang of six platelayers who did track maintenance. Their foreman was Mr. Cutts the father of Bertha who became one of the lady porters during the war. Bertha’s brother Albert was a porter at the station and later became signalman for a time at Ryhill.

He was later transferred to the box at Staincross where he married and lived until his retirement. The Cutts family were prominent members of the Wesleyan Chapel.

Parcels and goods conveyed to the station by the passenger trains were delivered to the village shops by the porters either by barrow, handcart or a four-wheeled trolley which took two of them to pull. The only things not delivered were the fish for the chip shop (this was fetched by the man himself or any lad who wished to earn a copper or two) and the newspapers morning and evening. The evening papers always came from Leeds on the 6 p.m. train when the local newsagent and his delivery boys were there to meet it. The newsagent, himself, saw to the papers. He would sort them out at the station and would allocate to each delivery boy his quota to deliver in his section of the village. He himself would set off with a large bundle under his arm and deliver to the houses, shops and working men’s club along Station Road until he got to his own shop where the papers he had left would be spread on the counter for anybody who wanted to buy one. I was always amazed at the size of the bundle he set off with. I used to wonder how he got his arm around it. But, of course, as soon as he started delivering the papers the bundle would get less 162

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and he would have more control over it. A little old lady used to walk from South Hiendley common to the station for her delivery of papers, carry them back and start delivering them as soon as she reached her village. The poor old soul had to walk the two miles there and the two back as well as trudge up to the house doors. She was called Mrs. Mills and she did the delivery round in all weathers, even when the snow was ankle deep.

Letters were collected and taken by the postmaster to the station every evening on a two-wheeled handcart to go to the head post office at Wakefield by the 7 p.m. train. I never saw how the letters came to be delivered to the post office in the morning.

During the day trucks and vans were shunted into the sidings and their freight collected by farmers and those who owned horse transport. The materials which came this way were granite-like stones for road repairing before the use of tarmacadam, manure from racing and other large stables, timber, bricks, sand and lime for the local builder - he had his own horse and cart for this work. Another user of the sidings was the local market gardener, especially during the rhubarb growing season and when cauliflowers were ready for marketing. These were put into vans for the Manchester market.

The railway was a boon to business people wishing to go to either town and for those who went to the Grammar School in Wakefield or those attending the Technical School in Barnsley.

One of the busiest times at the station was Saturday afternoons for the 2 p.m. train to Wakefield when there was a near complete exodus of the male population to watch Wakefield Trinity Rugby Club play. Those who could afford it would go shopping. They came in crowds down Station Road from all parts of the village and from South Hiendley. They would return on the 6 p.m. train and come bustling out of the station and then proceed up Station Road. There were so many people returning it was like a Whit Week procession.

The 5 p.m. train was well patronized especially by young people going to the theatres in Wakefield or to see their 163

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sweethearts and of course some visited the pubs. They returned by the 10.30 p.m. train. Wednesday was fairly busy when people went to Barnsley market. Some farmers would also go. There was a large ironmongers there - Reynolds and Wadsworths who sold farm machinery, equipment and tools.

One or two tradesmen would be going to the warehouse.

One person who stands out in my memory among all the throng going on the Saturday afternoon train is Mr. Jack Ward.

He came down the road strutting with his head held high and looking left and right as though he owned the village. His wife and daughter were dressed in their finery and his sons in their Sunday suits. He was a man of substance down the pit. He would take work on and have men working for him. He would draw the wages, pay the men what he thought fit and keep the rest for himself, which was more than he gave the men. He made a profit out of their labours, a sort of gang boss. This was quite a common practice in the mines in those days. The miners had a name for that kind of man but I have forgotten it (butty or contractor). It was so profitable that he was able to build his own house in Lafflands Lane, named after his daughter Ivy, something unusual in those days of low wages.

There was no wonder he could hold his head high. His sister, Mrs. Pinches, lived next door to us and I don’t think she held a high opinion of her brother from what I heard her telling my mother - little pigs had big ears in those days!

The first cars There were not many bicycles in the village before the First War and the local colliery owner, Henry Lodge, owned the only car. One day it broke down and two cart horses and the horseman were sent from Lodge’s farm to haul it home. It had broken down in the Chevet area, half way between Ryhill and Wakefield, so the horses had quite a pull. We saw it come into the village from our house. It was an unfamiliar sight mechanical horsepower hauled along by flesh and blood horsepower with Jim Holgate sitting on the bonnet guiding the horses with reins and Mr. Hackney, the chauffeur, at the wheel steering it - with Mr. Lodge as passenger. Shortly after this incident another car appeared in the village. This was owned

by Mrs. Beaumont of Pear Tree Cottage opposite the 164

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Sportsman Inn. It was one of the first Ford “Tin Lizzies”. Then Barber Peel acquired one similar so now there were three cars in the village. I do not remember the make of Mr. Lodge’s car but it was British made, rather stylish - an open touring car with a folded back canvas top.

A few years later there appeared the first charabanc. It was built like an elongated car with twelve seats, seating four people on a seat. It was higher from the ground than a car but like a car it had a canvas roof which folded back. It was owned by Hackney and Salmon and driven by Mr. Hackney. It took people to town twice a week on market days and could be hired by parties for outings, football trips, etc. I went in it one Sunday to the Nostell Hospital Sing. Mr. Taylor had a smaller one.

The first buses The first real carriage built buses as opposed to the canvas covered charabancs were those which ran from Royston bringing miners to No. 3 pit. One was owned by somebody known as the Red Star man and the other by Thomas Wombwell. Then later a family from Royston ran a service from Barnsley to the Company (i.e. colliery) Houses built off Cow Lane, Havercroft until it was taken over by the Barnsley Traction Company. They started this service soon after Tracky had begun their Ryhill service. This was about 1921 or 1922.

At first Tracky only ran as far as Chapel Street where they parked until time for their return journey and where people from that end of Ryhill, Station Road and Brunswick could board the bus. The next stop was Havercroft Green. Later they started to run to Ryhill Station. This extension made two more stops - at the junction of Station Road with School Lane and half way down Station Road. It also created a third stop at Quarry Mount. Soon afterwards the West Riding started to run from Wakefield to the Square in the colliery houses later extending it to Newstead. They had a service through Ryhill to South Hiendley and Hemsworth and bought out cinema owner Ernest Silverwood’s Silver Ace service to Brierley. So it is easy to see how the passenger service on the railway became redundant. These buses were very welcome to those living in South Hiendley who had no public transport facilities 165

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in any shape or form and who had to walk, bike or find a horse drawn vehicle to cover the two or three miles to Ryhill Station.

All these buses started operating in the 1920 -26 era.

The first Trackies with their solid rubber tyres soon cut up the road between Monckton and Ryhill into potholes. The road was only made of granite chippings or some other hard stone so you can imagine what a bumpy ride the passengers had.

Those who biked to their work at the colliery tried to find the smoothest part at either side of the road to ride on. If not they would have been thrown off. It became a pleasure to ride on the bus after the Highway Department had the road relaid with tarmacadam.

When Monckton No. 5 pit was sunk a local man, Ted Filer, ran a bus between Havercroft Green and the pit. He also hired it out for parties who had organized functions. He was eventually bought out by the Tracky company who, at the same time, were running buses to No. 5 for miners from other areas. They took him on as a driver and kept him in their service until he retired.

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Part 2

CHILDHOOD AND CAREFREE YOUTH 1911-1926 School Days In 1911 I was five years old and old enough for school. My dad took me after the Easter holidays to see if they would take me as a pupil. But they were full up and had no room for me.

This broke my heart and I cried all the way home. I could not understand why they could not take me; I wanted to go to school but had to wait until after the summer holidays when I was admitted to the Church of England School in Cemetery Road.

I was started in the Baby Class, the teacher being a Miss Willis who taught us how to count, add up, subtract, divide and multiply by using thin sticks made for the job and small shiny white shells. She also taught us the alphabet and how to read. I could do that before I went to school and used to read interesting bits out of the newspaper to my dad whose sight was poor. After a year in the Babies we were moved up to a class where we were taught more advanced writing and arithmetic and encouraged in letter writing and composition. I gained a bit of notice from the teacher for writing a letter and addressing the envelope as it should be. This was Miss Lee’s class. I was later moved to Miss Tomlinson’s class; she was a b**ch if ever there was one. I wore a kind of cape when it was raining. One day I could not get the hook in the eyelet. Try as I might it would not go in and I started to cry with exasperation.

Miss Tomlinson laughed at me and called me Cry Baby and had all the class laughing at me. I never liked her after that in fact I never cared for her in any case!

Three of these infant teachers came from Wakefield on the 8 a.m. train and caught the 4 p.m. back. They brought their dinners with them in leather like lunch boxes. There were no school dinners then. The classrooms were heated by open coal fires protected by a strong iron fireguard. If they brought a potato pie for their dinner they would heat it on the fire and also boil a kettle for cups of tea. One day we had assembled 167

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for afternoon school after going home for our dinners and Mousy Ormond was crying in class. The teacher asked him what was the matter. It transpired he had had no dinner and was hungry. What the circumstances were I do not know; they were a large family and poor. He was a little, undernourished, white-faced lad and always went by the name of Mousy . One of the teachers had half a pie left warming by the fire. She gave it to him and after he had eaten it he seemed a different being. It was kind of that teacher, I think it was Mrs. Addison - a motherly type, to give him that pie.

At eight we were transferred from the Church School to the more modern and recently built Council School with its large asphalt playground instead of the earth and ash one we had been used to. In the winter we used to make slides on the asphalt when it was freezing. The longest slide extended from the wall separating the playground from the field and School Lane. Anybody who could stay on and bump the double doors opening on to St. Anne’s Street was good; not many did and came down with a bump half way down. We wore hob-nailed boots or clogs - just right for sliding. We also wore knickerbocker trousers which fastened at the knee, long, black, woollen stockings and a rough woollen navy blue jersey. The stiff white collars seen in school photographs (as well as the long white pinafores for girls) were not regulation.

They were only worn by those who could afford them or if you were wearing your old Sunday suit because you had got a new best outfit. Likewise you might be wearing up an old pair of Sunday boots. There were some school allotments in the far left corner of the playground. They were tended by the best scholars in Standard Seven. I wasn’t a top scholar and did not get into that class. What let me down was arithmetic and elementary mathematics. I put that down to having infected ears which were painful and suppurating, my mother having to syringe them out several times a day with a glass syringe using warm water and ointment. This kept me from school for two months during which time I was missing the instruction the rest of the class was receiving in those subjects and I never did catch up although I could do most of the rules of arithmetic. We seemed to have an arithmetic test each week and examinations every three months. A mate of mine, 168

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Billie Milner, showed me how to do long division and after his lesson and a bit of practice I could do them and get them right.

It’s a pity the teacher could not have done the same with fraction and percentage sums. I would then have caught up with the remainder of the class. By now we were working with exercise books at first with pencil and then with pens. We had left the slates behind in the Infants’ school. Mr. Field, the school bobby examined the registers every week and then went on his rounds to interview parents. He also had South Hiendley in his charge. The only special treat was the orange given to each child as the school broke up on Christmas Eve. Choir Boy I must have been eight years old when I joined the church choir. My mate Henry Townend was already in it and he told me all about it. I said to him, “I think I would like to be in the choir.” He said, “Right we will meet the choirmaster when he brings the letters to catch the 7 p.m. train.” He was Walter Sykes who was the village postmaster. We met him and Henry said, “My mate would like to join the choir.” Mr. Sykes said, “Bring him to choir practice on Friday night.” I went with Henry to the practice where we practised all the hymns and psalms for the following Sunday. Mr. Sykes must have been taken with my singing because he said, “Come on Sunday and we will fit you out with a cassock and surplice.”

I was in the choir from eight years old to fourteen when my voice broke. At that time the vicar was Rev. E. H. Smith and he used to take me from the choir on Sunday mornings to be the altar boy to help him prepare the wine and communion wafers. If there was a larger attendance of communicants I had to be ready to replenish them.

Saturday Pictures The highlight of the week that we looked forward to with anticipation was Saturday afternoon when we received our weekly pocket money, a princely sum of two pennies. One was to pay us to go into the pictures at the Empire in Chapel Street. Never a Saturday went by without us being there in the penny rush clutching our pennies in our hot hands to get us in. There must have been a few hundred of us queuing, 169

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each pushing and shoving the other. I think we made more noise and squeals than the Indians on the films. The second penny we would spend on sweets, a lucky bag or a small toy which interested us - it was our weekly treat. The two pence was a large sum in those days of small wages but it kept us from under the feet of our parents for a couple of hours from 2 to 4 p.m. The pictures shown were cowboys and Indians, cops and robbers or sometimes an historical adventure.

The Empire was owned by Mr. Silverwood who had a grocery and off licence just off Mill Lane in the quiet corner leading to Lafflands. Other moneyed people in the village had shares in it. I remember watching it being built while we were still at school in Cemetery Road. We used to go up Chapel Street then turn into Mill Lane for School Lane. But pictures were also shown in the old Church School in School Lane. It was standing idle after the older, Standards Four to Seven, pupils had been transferred to the new Council School in Chapel Street in about 1913 and was leased by Ellis Barraclough, a miner on night shift work at the local colliery. He showed pictures in the evenings before going on shift and on Saturday afternoons and evenings helped by members of his family. I saw my very first motion picture in the old school room. It was of Scottish soldiers charging across the battlefield with bayonets fixed. This has been firmly fixed in my mind for seventy years or more. The kilts they wore were not the tartan ones of their regiment but plain ones which I assumed to be khaki. But people abandoned the schoolroom cinema for the more modern Empire with its clearer picture and comfortable seats instead of school forms. Also the vicar at the time and the church council decided they wanted to take the old school over for parish functions and as a church Sunday school.

Even so Barraclough was not to be beaten. He had a more modern cinema built on spare land in Charles Street which leads off Station Road. Even then it did not come up to the standard of the Empire which was a far larger building than Barraclough’s with a stage and balcony. It was still a nice place to be in with modern seating. Its one drawback, marring the pleasure for the audience, was the gas engine that generated the electricity for the lighting and screening. If you have ever been near a gas engine working you will 170

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understand what I mean with its thumping and whirring.

Eventually it drove the clientele away - to have that noise in the background spoilt the enjoyment of the film.

At Play When we came out of the dark of the pictures we would be dazzled with the light. It wore off before we got home. Then we would play until tea was ready. If it was dark nights or wet we would have to stay in and play with our games of draughts, snakes and ladders, dominoes, tiddly-winks, ludo, snap cards, hoop-la on a ring board as well as painting and drawing.

On Sundays we had to put on our best clothes and go to Sunday School both morning and afternoon. After Sunday morning service a gang of us both boys and girls, when the weather was suitable, would walk right round the reservoir a distance of about three miles until Sunday dinner was ready.

Otherwise we had to stay in, sit quietly in our best clothes and look at our comics. The ones I remember best from various times of my childhood are Lot o’ Fun, Comic Cuts, Comic Life, Merry Moments, Playtime, Jester, Rainbow and Chips.

There was no playing out until we came back from afternoon Sunday School and took off our Sunday clothes. Then we were allowed to go out to play in our everyday clothes. We had a large yard the length of the twelve houses in our terrace row to play in. We played various ball games with a rubber ball such as cricket with a home made bat and wickets chalked on the wall dividing us from the farmer’s field. We also played pat-ball, pize ball, kick out can and hide and seek.

In the holidays we went to play down The Pits - a wood with trees and bushes and also several deep holes. It was said coal had been dug out of them many years previously by the monks of Nostell Priory - how much truth there was in that story I don’t know! Down the side of The Pits and running along side the road leading to Wintersett was an open piece of ground large enough to play cricket on. We used to play cricket matches there against teams from the other end of the village and friendly matches between teams made up from us children living in Station Road. At the other side of the wood was a field used by the school as a sports field. When they 171

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were not using it we used to play scratch football matches on it if we got a pig’s bladder or better still a ball.

Games were seasonal - cricket was for summer. Hoops came out when it was getting light at nights; at Shrovetide the boys had whips and tops and marbles and the girls battledore and shuttlecocks and their skipping games. Kite flying was a favourite pastime. As I remember it seemed most popular in the summer holidays (which were four weeks long in those days) when we had got tired of other games and when there were suitable winds which generally seemed to occur in August. Those who could afford them had bought linen kites, either the diamond shaped or the box kite. There were cheap paper ones to be had at a penny or twopence each. Some lads were quite good at making their own using paper and thin rose branches with the prickles shaved off or light willow branches. Another game was making bows and arrows out of willow or hazel sticks or any other wood which was pliable.

With these we played Red Indians, Savages, Ancient Britons and Robin Hood. We also had contests to see who could shoot the farthest.

Living on the edge of the countryside we also, in summer when days were long, had a choice of walks when these games finally bored us. As well as walking round the reservoir we used to walk to Cold Hiendley bridge to watch the barges being towed slowly by gigantic barge horses. They were beautiful animals and it was a pleasure to see how effortlessly they hauled the barges through the water. It was fascinating to see how the bargemen undid the rope by which the barge was hauled along and stowed it on the barge. Then they manoeuvred the barge through the bridge where the horse would be waiting at the other side to be again harnessed up to pull the barge. The horse had been brought up the bank from the towpath on to the road which the bridge carried. It crossed the road to join the towpath on the other side of the bridge and was waiting for the harness and hauling rope to be attached.

A game for when the nights became darker again and we were allowed out - and it had to be a mild night and no later than 8 p.m. - was Dickie, Dickie Shine a Light. We made a 172

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lantern by getting an old tin, preferably a treacle tin, and knocking fine holes in the bottom. This was instead of glass.

In the side two holes were punched to hold wire for a handle.

This held the can in a vertical position. A candle stuck inside the tin and lit completed the lamp. There was nothing in the game really. It was done for the sheer joy of being in the dark and having a light to shine to see our way. The backyards were always dark and the streets not much lighter even with the gas lamps. It was ideal for Hide and Seek too.

Parents, especially mine, had a leather strap hung up by the side of the fireplace and used it on the least provocation. My dad seemed to take a delight in hiding me until I cried out for him to stop. He seemed to have a brutish streak in him. He was flogging me one day in the kitchen and I was screaming out when Mrs. Marshall came in and stopped him. Another day he was belting me and my mother stopped him saying, “Tha’s done enough to him!” One day they were arguing over me. I think he was going to hide me for something. My mother stopped him and said, “Tha nivver wanted him.” They got arguing when suddenly my dad put on his cap and coat and left the house. My mother was not bothered. She said, “Let him go. He’ll come back when he’s hungry!” And he did.

My mother could do her share. I have sat on the top of the stairs after a beating and being sent to bed and cried and shouted, “I wish I were dead!” She would shout back, “If you don’t shut up I’ll give you some more!” These hidings seemed to have been abandoned as I got near to leaving school.

Perhaps it was because my earnings would soon be boosting the family income!

Feast Weekend Along with Christmas this was the only time that was special for family get togethers. It was the weekend nearest July 25th, St. James’ Day the patronal saint of the village. The arrival of the feast (i.e. fair) always created a mood of excitement and joyous anticipation, especially amongst the children. A huge steam traction engine hauled the massive wagons containing the parts for the roundabouts. As soon as they arrived on the field (Ryecroft field off Station Road for many years) preparations were made to unload the wagons 173

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and start the erection of the roundabouts, swings and side stalls such as coconut shies, Aunt Sallies, hoop-la and the rifle range. Everything was made ready for the start on Saturday afternoon and it would continue until Tuesday night. Some of it would be taken down during the night and be on its way by early Wednesday morning to its next stopping place. By Wednesday evening it had all gone.

Saturday and Monday were the two main crowd pullers. By Tuesday most pockets were empty and the crowds waiting their turn on the roundabouts not so dense. The entertainment usually went on until midnight. The first steam roundabouts we knew were hobby horses, then came birds in the shape of cocks and hens. Whizzing round on the hobby horses provided much excitement and pleasure. When the chariots in the form of an old fashioned motor car were introduced you were not only whizzed around but you were also taken up and down on a switch back like being on the ocean wave. As you went down you felt as though you were leaving your stomach behind and catching it back just as you were going up. Everybody seemed to enjoy it.

After the last ride and our pockets empty we would have a last look back at the field with the lights making a fairy grotto in the surrounding darkness and think with a sigh of sadness that that was the end of the feast for another year.

In the week preceding the arrival of the feast the housewives would be busy making preparations. The house would undergo a second type of spring-cleaning. All curtains would be taken down and, along with the cushion covers and other furniture draperies, would be washed. Also there would be extra baking - of fruitcakes, tarts and pies - and a piece of ham would be bought and boiled. Tins of fruit and salmon would be got in. All this was done in anticipation that relatives or friends could come for the festal fun.

On the Sunday, in the afternoon, the Hospital Sing would be held when a collection was made for local hospitals which in those days depended on voluntary subscriptions, there being no N.H.S. at the time. All the contributions would be thrown 174

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into two clothes baskets lined with a white sheet one at each side of the entrance to the field and guarded by two men who sat on a chair beside each basket. Hymn sheets were sold so that the assembled crowd could join in the singing.

Preparations for the Sing were started early on the Sunday morning. The local carter (now called a haulage contractor) would bring the planks and framework for the erection of the platform on which the choir would be assembled. This was done by volunteers from the Hospital Committee. The choir included those from the two chapels and the church and anyone from the surrounding villages who could sing. The conducting of the choir was done in rotation by the choirmasters of those three religious establishments. One year it would be the church choirmaster, next the Wesleyan Chapel’s and then the Primitive Methodists’. The singing was accompanied by the Silver Band and members of a string orchestra. The vicar and the two chapel ministers would lead the crowd in prayers. The Sing always started with a procession through the village led by the band followed by various organizations of the village, the congregations of the church and chapels and the church choir in their cassocks and surplices headed by the church’s processional cross. The vicar walked in the rear in his vestments. A collection for the hospitals was taken along the route of the procession.

The Great War 1914-1918 When war was declared at the beginning of August 1914 I was seven going into eight. For news we had to rely on the newspapers or word of mouth - if anybody had been into town and had heard anything special, or from people who came into the village on business (firms’ travellers or delivery men).

They would tell the shopkeeper who would pass it on to the customers who in turn passed it on to their neighbours - a kind of jungle telegraph. There were morning papers but I think the evening papers were more popular. This might have been because of the racing results or because people had more time in the evening to read them if they had completed their day’s work. Then, of course, everybody wanted a paper to read about what was happening.

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Within a few days of the war starting the reserves were called up. Ryhill was a mining village but some miners had left the pit to join the army and returned to pit work when their span of service was over. I was sitting on the grassy bank which ran down from our row of houses to the road, it was a warm, sunny August afternoon. A few people had already gone to the station to catch the 5 p.m. train to Wakefield when along came Percy Crouch in his khaki uniform with rifle and kit accompanied by his wife. He was also going to catch the train, having been called back to his regiment (K.O.Y.L.I.) for service at the front. Apart from his wife and those waiting to catch the train I think I would be the last person in Ryhill to see Percy alive. He never returned; he was killed that October (near La Bassee). He was the village’s first casualty. Mrs. Crouch was left to bring up their two sons, Jack and Maurice, on her own. Mrs. Crouch was a native of Spain, it was said locally that she followed Percy to England after he had completed his army service in Malta. There were many more casualties later. We lost several grand lads. I especially remember the three Malpass brothers - big, strapping, young 6 -footers as broad as a house side. It was a tragedy, all out of one family and all killed at practically the same time. Their mother was a big woman but their father was only a small man. You would not have believed he could have fathered three such magnificent specimens of manhood. His other two sons were of medium height and build but the daughter was a well-made lass - a little taller than her two remaining brothers.

She and Ethel Milner joined the Women’s Land Army. The papers every day had page upon page listing killed, wounded or prisoners of war.

I was at the Council School during the Kaiser’s War, as they called it. Our food ships were being sunk so frequently that there had to be food rationing (see p.160). The rationing officer for our village was Tom Hepworth who lived in Mill Lane in the bow windowed houses opposite the present dentist’s surgery. It was his duty to give the ration cards out, one for each member of the family, and see that you signed for them.

He did this in addition to his work as checkweighman at Hemsworth Colliery (another version has him at Lodge’s pit) and sitting as parish councillor. Our school ran a war savings 176

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campaign and this was the reason why the slogan Buy Savings Certificates and U will beat the U-boat was painted in large white letters on the school wall. Mother used to give what she could afford and when I left school I had two or three savings certificates worth 15s (75p) each. Tobacco was also rationed. Whenever word got round that there was tobacco and cigarettes at the barber’s or any of the other shops mother would stop what she was doing and go and stand in the queue so that dad could have his ounce of twist or whatever amount was available for each person.

Dad obtained an allotment within easy reach of the house.

The council had taken one of the strips on Westfields and marked it out into plots of goodly size. He had bought me a nice sized barrow and after school I would go down all the lanes gathering horse droppings. We called it hoss mucking.

By the time seed sowing had come round I had a good-sized heap, mixed with leaf mould, ready. One evening a timber wagon drawn by three huge carthorses came along the lane.

Before I could get my barrow out of the way the wagon ran over it and broke it. The great hulking driver did nothing but laugh. It happened in Cold Hiendley and as I was crying my granddad, who worked on one of the farms, came by and helped me gather up the pieces and I carried them home. The next day my dad put it together with tin pieces he had cut and some nails and with a new wheel. I had my barrow back again. I had gathered a barrowful of hoss muck and had to leave it by the roadside. I think my granddad told a man who lived in a nearby cottage to take it for his garden. I also used my barrow to wheel those heavy sacks home from the Co-op.

At one period during the war a man went round canvassing for chimneys to sweep carrying his brushes over his shoulder and a bag to put the soot in. Somebody’s youthful imagination came up with the idea that he was a German spy and whenever we met him we would look at him with awe and not a little apprehension. He seemed to disappear as suddenly as he had appeared and he became quite forgotten - youthful minds do not dwell on things that are no longer there.

There was the night in November 1916 when the Zeppelins came over. My father carried me downstairs and put me in his 177

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armchair propped against the wall, making it into a bed. I said sleepily, “Where are you taking me, dad?” When the Zepps were overhead my mother and dad went out to look at them.

They were over the reservoir and looked like silver cigars. It was a lovely moonlight night. People watching were saying that they would be trying to get to Sheffield and the steel works. Wherever they were aiming for they dropped bombs in a field on the edge of South Hiendley nearest to Felkirk. We heard the bang and crunch of the bombs. The only damage they caused were craters in the field and broken windows in the village, especially in George Street which was only separated from the field by Tun Lane. People then thought they might have been aiming for the coke ovens at Monckton.

Soon after we heard them coming back on their way to Germany. We heard later that one had been shot down somewhere over Hull.

Dad worked at the coke ovens and although they were aiding the war effort by supplying coke for the steel works he got his calling up papers and had to go to Barnsley to be medically examined to see if he was physically fit for military service. He was a fine fellow in those days of moderate height, well built with a good physique. Dad told us when the drill sergeant saw him he said he was the type of man they were looking for. But they did not get him. He was failed on the eyesight test. He had always had poor eyesight and until he married mother had never had any glasses but she soon saw that he had. With failing his medical he was classed “C3” and had to wear a khaki armband with a red crown on to show that he was not shirking military service. By working at the coke ovens he was doing his bit to help win the war, as they said - he was one of the men behind the men who were behind the guns.

The men from the village who joined up were in all branches of the services. One or two were in the navy, one of them becoming wireless officer. One or two were in the Royal Flying Corps. One of them, who lived at Wintersett, became a flying officer and used to come over in his plane and perform aerobatics. After the war he became a deputy at Monckton Nos. 3&4 pits and lived in Brier Lane, Havercroft. But mostly they were in the army, one actually attaining the rank of 178

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lieutenant. The local brass band was requisitioned for military service. They used to catch the 8.30 a.m. train each day to attend Wakefield Drill Hall. I think they were attached to the K.O.Y.L.I. Regiment and eventually went to France.

All the men teachers at our school were in the army and we had to be taught by old ladies who had been retired from teaching for years. Their methods were really old fashioned and I often think that this was another reason why we never got really far in mathematics it took us all our time to get a smattering of fractions and percentages. One old lady was a real spinster type. I only ever remember her taking indigestion tablets and mending her pince-nez spectacles with red sealing wax. The wonder was she did not set herself on fire the matches she struck in her efforts to melt the wax. Her name was Miss Rodgers. I do not remember her teaching us anything, the only thing she had us do was silent reading.

Perhaps I should be grateful to her for encouraging us in reading and literature and to value books. Reading has always been a pleasure to me even if it was only reading the Boys’ Friend and other comics.

After the war ended I only had a year to do at school. I saw the return of the men teachers. They did not stay long, moving to other schools. One, Mr. Nangles, went to Grimethorpe or Cudworth as headmaster. He had married a favourite teacher of mine, a Miss Summerscales. She used to bike from Wakefield and back in the summer time.

When the peace treaty was signed at Versailles in the summer of 1919 the council celebrated it with a tea and other jollifications, ending with a massive bonfire. Every village and town was doing the same. The bonfire had to be high enough so that neighbouring villages could see it. They were reminiscent of the bonfires lit when the Armada was preparing to attack England. Ours was on what is now the Westfield estate, one of the highest fields in the village, with a good view looking towards Wakefield, Sandal, Walton, Chevet and Crofton. The field ran down to Station Road by the side of our row of houses. It belonged to the Lodge brothers, Henry, Joshua and William the partners in the Ryhill Main Colliery 179

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Company. When the farmer was doing anything in the field we would suspend our playing activities and sit on the six foot high wall which divided the field from our backyards and watch him, especially during ploughing, haymaking and harvesting.

So from our back bedroom window we had a good view of this massive bonfire. I remember it was a very dark night which provided a good background to the glow which could be seen for miles around. There was so much material to be burned that it was burning the next morning which was Sunday.

Our real experience of that war was more of a knowing that it was going on. We just knew it had happened.

The first council houses Later that year the first eight council houses in Ryhill were built on the bonfire field. They were called Crown Villas. Between Station Road and this field was a very long and very wide area of grass which rose gently from the road to the field hedge and our row of houses. We used to play on this grassy area. One day a gang of men arrived and started to dig a roadway through this grassy bank from the existing road up to the field so that building materials could be hauled up it. They laid a tramway along it and put piles of bricks on a flat bottomed tram which was pushed to where the houses were being built.

When the men were not working we would put this tram on the rails, give it a good push, jump on, and send it careering along to the far end. It was great fun speeding along until one day it jumped the track and threw us off. We got hurt a bit, badly bruised and minor cuts to our arms, and that was the end of the tramway joy rides. The houses with their gardens back and front took up nearly a third of the field. From our perch on the dividing wall we were too far away to see and take an interest in any further farming activities.

They were the first working class houses in our area to be built on the semi-detached principle instead of the terraced rows.

At that time they were the last word in modernity and luxury.

They had hot and cold water, bathrooms and water toilets.

They were in decided contrast to our old houses just over the wall with their two bedrooms, cold water tap and a privy at the bottom of the yard. Later two had to be demolished as they 180

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became unsafe through subsidence. Gas and hot and cold taps at the sink made life easier, especially if you could afford a gas oven. But these along with washing machines and electricity were luxuries that not everybody could afford. If you wanted electricity you had to pay for installation and the few electrical appliances were dear and not too easy to use, for instance irons could not be regulated.

But it later became law that the owners of older properties had to get rid of the ash pits and earth closets. If the replacement W.C.’s could not be installed inside they had to install them out. New sewerage works and larger and more modern drainage systems were constructed. These together with the introduction of better medical care helped to reduce the epidemics of scarlet fever and diphtheria and improve health generally.

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Part 3

A colliery labourer - of necessity, but reluctantly 1920 - 1966 School leaver In the November after the peace celebrations I was thirteen years old and left school. My dad got my name put on the list for a job at the New Monckton Collieries. As there was no job immediately vacant I had to go back to school for three months, that was the law at that time. Going back was a waste of time, as I learnt nothing more. I finally left school at February or Easter 1920, my memory fails as to which date.

Me and my mate, Henry Townend, eventually got a job with a farmer at Cold Hiendley. He had a field which ran down to the Wintersett reservoir. It was separated from the reservoir by two lines of willow trees which he had pollarded. The farmer set us on to burn all these lopped off branches and said he would pay us. We had burnt a large number of these boughs but one day when we went to the farm for the hayforks for piling them on the fire we got talking to his ploughman who was ploughing a field at the back of the farm. All the work in those days was done by horses. Eventually he let us try our hand at ploughing. This suited me as I had always wanted to be a farmer and to plough but my dad would not let me. He had worked on farms and said the work was hard with long hours and would not let me go. The farmer got to know about us trying to plough and said we had been wasting time on the job and said he would not pay us. He also happened to deliver our milk. My mother said to him, “If you do not pay what he has earned I shall not pay you the milk money I owe you and get his wage that way”. And she did just that.

Soon after that a job was offered to me at Monckton (Nos. 1 & 2). I went on the Tuesday to see the general manager’s secretary, Sergeant Loader, who signed me on to start work at 6 a.m. on the screens. On the Wednesday I was confirmed in the church by the Bishop of Beverley, then started work on the Thursday. Fred Brear and Ernest Thackray were waiting at 182

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the bottom of the Green, they were starting work the same morning. Johnny Law was with them, he had been working a few months and he showed us where to go and where to clock on. I did not like working on the screens, they were on the shake all the time due to the shakers riddling the coal before it went on the moving belt to have any stones picked out of it before being tipped in the railway wagons. When I got home I felt I was still shaking and told my mother. “You will soon get used to it” was all the sympathy I got.

The first years 1920 - 30 Monckton screens, the tram road and No.3 pit yard I never liked pit work but there was nothing else. My first job on the screens was as a motty boy taking the colliers’ motties off the empty tubs. When we got a pile we sorted them out and hung them on the number on the board that corresponded with the number on the motty. The collier would collect his motties and take them down the pit with him to attach one to each tub of coal that he filled. There were two holes in the tub through which to thread the tar band attached to the motty.

He threaded the motty through a loop of the band and pulled tight. Sometimes it was a difficult job to unravel the motty from the tub then we had to resort to cutting the band and a new one had to be fitted to the motty.

After being on the motties for a few weeks I got to use the tippler that tipped tubs of coal on to the belt which took the coal and dropped it into wagons waiting below. On each side of this moving belt were old men who picked the grey stone out of the coal, as this was no use for burning. These men were lame and very old but kept working as long as possible as the 10s old age pension allowance would not keep a man and wife in food. It was known as the Lloyd George after the chancellor who introduced it. The local council allowed the pensioners a supplement of 2s 6d. In our village it was known as Batty’s Money from the name of the official who paid it out every Thursday. When someone was going to draw it people would say, “They are going for their Batty’s.”

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Another job I was put to do on the screens was to sit and, as a tub of coal came off the cage and up the creeping gantry, pull a lever which operated a steel grip which grasped the tub and steadied it on its run up to the tippler. This had to be done because the tubs came off the creepers at such a rate and would have gone through the tippler without being emptied.

An old man, who had difficulty in walking, did this and I had to do the job while he went for his snap. He was another case of having to work as long as he could. After I had been on the screens a month or two I was sent to work in the Bull Ring.

This was a kind of small quarry in the pit yard into which the full coal tubs would come to be screened on the endless rope from No.3 pit.

Up at No.3, as the tubs came off the cage, they were guided onto the weigh bridge and weighed while the lad who put them on shouted out the number of the motty on the tub to the man in the weigh office. He would enter this number in a book alongside the weight of the coal. He was known as the company’s weighman - he weighed the coal for the colliery company. Next to him, in the same office but at another desk, was the checkweighman, appointed by the miners’ union to put the motty number and the amount just weighed into a separate book so that the miner would not be cheated out of any money due to him. Both these books went into the main office for the wages clerks to reckon up the amount of coal filled by each miner and the amount he should be paid for hewing all that coal in a week. After the tub of coal came off the weigh it was coupled to another tub until they made what was called a run (of eight tubs). They were sent down to the man who fixed them to the endless moving rope by a clip attached to the chain hooked on to the coupling of the first tub.

The chain was also hooked to the clip and the clip was screwed on to the rope. A chain hooked to the coupling of the last tub was also attached to the rope and the run of tubs was then on its way to the Monckton screens.

When the run reached Monckton the clip was unscrewed from the rope and it and the chain were thrown on to the first tub of coal. The back chain was taken off the rope and placed on to the last tub. The whole run of coal was attached to the main 184

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and tail rope and lowered down into the Bull Ring where the rope was detached from the run and it was dragged back to the ginny by the next run coming down. My job was to take the clip and chain off the tub and take them to the man lashing the empties on to the rope to go back to No.3. It was a dirty job because the chain was greased and I had to carry it on my shoulder. You can imagine what state my coat was in - one thing, it was as good as an oilskin when it rained.

I had this job for about three months until Christmas 1920 when I was told to go to First Turn after the holiday. There I had to see that the back chain on the empties was slack enough to go through the turn without knocking the rope off the pulleys. If it was too tight I had to hit it, where it was wrapped round the rope, with an iron bar and make it slip along the rope until it was slack enough. I had this job for two years when I was moved to the turn at Cawker Wood where it was the clip I had to slacken to prevent it pulling the rope off. I had this job for another two years until I was moved up to No.3 pit yard where I was given a pony driving job.

This job consisted of moving the tubs of ashes filled in the boiler house out of the doorway and getting the pony to pull them up on to the ash stack to be emptied. It was hard work for the poor pony to pull them up two at a time. Eventually they put an electric motor on the stack which drew them up four at a time. The worst pony I ever worked with was the one pulling coal tubs from the weigh to the land sale for home coal.

If he thought he was not going to pull the tubs he wouldn’t and no amount of coaxing would get him to move. You had to be really cruel to him - so long as no official saw you. You had to hit him with a wooden locker or kick his shins. With his ways he made the job harder and the carters got impatient waiting for the coal because their week’s wage was reckoned on how many loads they could get out each day. I was only sent to that job when the chap whose job it was did not turn up for work. He was the only one who could make that pony go. He only had to say to it, “ Are you going or have I to take my belt to you?” and let the pony see him getting his belt off. He had achieved this by taking the pony down into the hole where the small coal was riddled into the tubs, taking off its harness and 185

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giving it such a hiding that the poor animal literally screamed for mercy. After a few hidings like this he only had to speak to the pony and start to take off his belt and the pony would pull the tubs. In the end the pony knew every word he spoke to him and followed him like a dog.

After pony driving for a time I was given the job of working with the bricklayer as his labourer. We did repair work on the boiler brickwork. It was a hot, dusty job especially when a boiler had been taken off from working to have its flues cleaned. Then we would go in and see what damage had been done and needed repairing. My job was to keep the bricklayer supplied with fireclay and firebricks. Any old brickwork taken down had to be sent out through a little manhole that we had difficulty in getting through, then there was a certain amount of dust and heat to contend with. Sometimes we would be sent to the company’s farms to do repairs to farm buildings. I liked these jobs it took us away from the pit and into the fresh air.

One job I did not like and felt nervous about was when we had to go down the pit. When the pit was on fire we had to go down and put brick stoppings in to contain the fire. We had to crawl through the tunnels on our stomachs dragging our tools along with us. This was all right until I heard one of the inspectors telling the colliers who were helping us to stop swearing saying, “If you knew how near to eternity you were you would not be using that sort of language. The pit could go up at any time!” I thought, “If it’s so bad what am I doing down here; I am a surface worker not a collier.” I vowed to myself that when I got out of there I would stay out, and I did!

Nowadays the union would have fetched me out and told me to stay out as being a surface worker I had no business underground. I had the flu coming on and threw on the sick club for a fortnight and when I got back all danger was over and the pit was working normally. Then it came as we had to go down the pit again to help build an overcast for the distribution of air through the pit. I refused to go down that time and I knew they could not make me.

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I did odd jobs such as pointing on the boilers and keeping the boiler tops swept up; grinding the mortar for those down the pit or to be taken by steam cart to No.5 pit. If only two tubs were required for down the pit the enginewright would sometimes not tell me until nearly clocking off time. I would hate this as it meant stopping over and my dinner would be spoilt; in any case one full shift was enough for one day. Then there was the time we had to go to No.5 pit, which was near Chevet, and help to build a wall round the pit top. This was not so bad as it was more or less in the open fields. We had to go on our bikes to get there. When the bricklayer was down the pit I was given jobs he should have been doing such as building stoppings for the economizers and rebuilding the bridges in the boiler tubes and the brick V which protected the blow off cock after they had been off for inspection. I found that I could use a trowel and do bricklaying as well as anyone. It was bad luck I had to go and do boiler firing or I might have been promoted as one of the bricklayers. But the chief bricklayer himself had the old fashioned idea that you had to serve an apprenticeship and I think he did not want any one to take a job he was saving for a relative. When I first left school I would have liked to have been a pit joiner but that kind of job went to the bosses’ sons. There was no chance for me whose father was only a pit labourer. And when a foreman of ours got electrocuted that put me off electrical work.

It happened that the boiler firemen could not keep the steam up there was so much pressure on the boilers. The two firemen had three boilers each to keep fired up and it became impossible for them to do so. I and the strikers out of the blacksmith’s shop were sent in to help them which meant we all had a boiler each to fire. So we managed to keep the steam pressure up. The time came when me and some of the yardmen were in the boiler house firing regular which meant doing all three shifts: days, afternoons and nights. Putting me in the boiler house kept me from going in the army when the Second World War broke out. I was classed as a safety man and the job was a reserved occupation, important to the war effort. When we went to sign on for the army I was told to go back and if they wanted me they would send for me. They never did and my age was in my favour.

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The last years 1953-66 Mirror image: No.3 pit yard, the tram road and Monckton screens.

After more than twenty years boiler firing I slipped a disc which prevented me from bending down and doing a lot of shovelling. I had to come out of the boiler house and be put on light duties in the yard and on the pit bank. I finally ended up on the tram road taking the back chain off the rope and putting it over the last tub so that the run would go through the turn without pulling the rope off the pulleys. I did that for about two years when I was sent again to first turn to put the back chain on the rope to act as a brake as the run of empties went down the incline towards Cawker Wood.

That lasted until we had a smash up with full tubs on their way to Monckton. Luckily they had got through the turn. What caused it I do not know, but it required lifting the full tubs on to the rails which with my back I could not do and my mate was not strong enough to do. This caused a long delay until we got some help. It also held up coal production as the pit could not work without the tramway running and getting the full tubs away. It was easier to blame me with my disability and I was moved back up to the pit to help them out on the pit bank.

The tramroad foreman spoke up in my mate’s defence because it would have meant the sack for him as he was not strong enough and had no initiative to do any other job.

I was on the top deck helping Joby Bartram to put empties on the cage to go down the pit and at the same time push the full tubs out to go on the weigh. If they were short handed at Monckton I was sent down to help. I was taken down in the general purpose van and brought back to No.3 to clock off. It was quite a diversion and I had some good mates to work with. Within a few months they finished running the coal on the tramway to Monckton and started sending it underground where it was drawn up their shaft and on to the washer where all the small coal and grey stone were washed out of it. The stone was taken by aerial flight in buckets and tipped on to the muck stack. The fine coal, or slack as it was called, was transferred across to the coke ovens by conveyor belt.

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of coal from No.3 went up to be tipped on to the screens before being sent to the washer. This meant there was no need to send me to Monckton to help them out. It also meant that there was no more work on the pit top for us surface workers. The manager had us all in the office and we were given a choice of jobs we could go to: Grimethorpe colliery, Shafton workshops or Monckton 1 and 2 pits. Having worked at Monckton in my teens and on and off recently I thought it would not be a bad thing to go to work there again.

How disillusioned I became! It was not a bit like I thought it would be. All the jobs were so complicated that we ought to have been given more instruction than the half hour we were given and then be expected to do them. It was impossible!

And when we made a mistake and stopped the job we were in trouble. I wished many a time I had done like a few had done and asked to stay on at No.3 pit until it had finished for good and then been paid my redundancy money. Instead of that we were put on nights regular, a shift I hated. Some nights were very cold, rainy and foggy and I got bronchitis very badly and was off work six months. I was called to see the manager and was given notice to finish work. This was the end of my working life and I was given the princely sum of ÂŁ175 redundancy money. There were several others with me who were treated the same.

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Part 4

Ryhill, Havercroft and District in the 1920’s Some old houses These houses have been in Ryhill as long as I can remember, that is over seventy years (written 1982). Some are brick, some are stone and some are stone faced like the one where Joshua Lodge, partner in Ryhill Main, lived and is now the Liberal Club. Then it had a drive up to the front door from the main road. The house used to be surrounded by lawns and gardens, which, including tennis courts, extended to the lane leading to the pastures down Havercroft Green. These pastures are now cultivated as market gardens and Lodge’s gardens, etc. contain two pairs of 1930’s built semi-detached houses. Where the lock up shop is (funeral director’s in 2002) there used to be a small thatched white washed cottage occupied by old Mrs. Barlow who kept it as a sweet shop.

Next to it, where the bungalow is, stood an old stone cottage.

Facing the shop are the two stone cottages which then housed the groom and gardener for Joshua Lodge. Then there are the four small cottages, built, I think, of hand made brick and were probably farm labourers’ cottages.

Going down Mill Lane from Lodge’s house are six large private houses standing in their own grounds. The last one (now the dentist’s) was firstly the post office, owned by Walter Sykes, briefly a private house before it became the Liberal Club until its committee bought Lodge’s.

Still in Mill Lane, and opposite its junction with Chapel Street, is a two storey stone building with outside stone steps to its upper storey. When I first knew it the bottom level was used

by Ernest Silverwood as a garage for his car and the upper storey was a billiard hall. Before my time it was in turn the chapel and the Salvation Army citadel. It is built on the edge of the quarry.

In the quarry itself is another stone built house which has been renovated. When I was a lad it was the home of what we would call a haulier, it was before motor transport existed in 190

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the village. It was owned by Mr. Jowett who had horses and carts and led coal from the local collieries and did any other carting business people wanted doing. He also had a horse and carriage in which many a local bride was carried to her wedding. I remember seeing it with the horse decked out in white ribbons and with white covers for its ears. In the yard of this quarry house was a small barn which contained a corn mill worked by a pony which kept trotting round and round on the end of a pole which activated the cog wheels. This property was taken over by Jackie Wright, a joiner at the Monckton Collieries, who set up his own business as joiner, builder and undertaker and used the barn as his workshop.

The corn mill was replaced by a mortar mixing machine.

Adjoining this barn and running along Mill Lane were the cow houses of Mulberry Farm. Part of the farmyard went to the edge of the quarry. The Mulberry Farm house had to be rebuilt after a fire one Sunday night. At an angle to the farmhouse where Mill Lane becomes School Lane was a stone building which had been made into two cottages. This was the manor house of Ryhill. One was lived in by Mr. Jack Johnson and his family and the other by his married daughter and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin.

Opposite the Quarry House were four or five cottages standing well back from the road, this was known as Rogerson’s Fold. Towards School Lane were about four more cottages with small front gardens. In their place stands a row of bungalows built by Jackie Wright in the 1930’s.

At the bottom of School Lane stood Dahlia Cottage, it has been pulled down along with a number of other old stone properties that stood as the lane turned into Station Road.

One was a large stone house where John Pollard, Lodge’s farm manager, lived next to its barns and out buildings.

Across the road was another of Lodge’s farmyards, next to which, still standing, is the stone house where Carnelly Haigh, Lodge’s company secretary, lived. Next to The Sportsman Inn were the Pinfold and the houses that formed St. John’s Square. These houses had just the one front door that opened on to a central yard with just one opening. At the other side of The Sportsman were Abel Ellis’s house, yard and 191

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stables. He was another carter leading coal from the collieries. He was also the night soil man, cleaning out the privies during the night. Across the road on the site of The Hammer and Anvil car park was a row of cottages pulled down to make Station Road wider for modern traffic. The end one, next to the inn, was used by the council as a kind of town hall where births, deaths and marriages had to be registered and where the council meetings were held. The village fire fighting equipment was stored there. The fire engine was a sort of handcart built like a miniature van and painted red. It was pulled by Little Tommy, the smallest fireman of the lot. Tommy was a bit simple.

Mill Lane Before there were so many houses my father used to tell us that Mill Lane used to look and smell lovely when all the blossom was out, the lane having orchards on either side. I do not know how few houses there were at that time (1880’s and 90’s) or how many orchards there were or how far they extended. There used to be one area devoted to strawberries.

The cul-de-sac, called Top Orchard, off Cow Lane, is part of the old orchard. It ran parallel with Mill Lane up to Quarry Mount taking in Garden Terrace. I remember apple and pear trees growing on Top Orchard land and I think at one time that there used to be a rhubarb shed there. The trees were grubbed out and the land turned over to crops before it was built on.

Cow Lane Before the council houses at Mulberry and Newstead and the colliery houses were built this was a narrow country lane just wide enough for a horse and cart to go down. If two met one had to go into a gateway to let the other pass. It was little more than a dirt track with stones filling in the deepest ruts. It was very quiet and little used in contrast to today when traffic rushes along it all day and into the night. The only people to use it in those days were the farm workers and those whose business took them to the ventilation shaft of Lodge’s colliery nestling below the top of Newstead.

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There were two ways to get into the lane. Vehicles had to go to the cross roads at Havercroft Green. Those walking from Ryhill village crossed the Mulberry Farm fields which were entered through a kissing gate at the corner of the farmhouse.

There was another gate at the other end where Mulberry Avenue is. This was the way we went as kids when we wanted to get to Fitzwilliam Lane Ends to watch the horses and hounds set off whenever they met there during the fox hunting season.

After leaving the stone house at the start of Cow Lane at the Green the first building that you came to was Newstead Hall at the very top of the hill. The lane was now called Newstead Lane. The hall was then inhabited and in very good repair.

Some official belonging to Hemsworth Colliery lived in it then.

There were also the two farms as there are today. There was no other habitation until the end of the lane under the railway bridge. On the Fitzwilliam side of the crossroads was a large house with gardens occupied by a retired army captain. I think he had something to do with the hunt this being the reason it met there.

From Newstead to the Lane Ends it was all open country; some cultivated but mostly pasture. The lane was just a narrow country one with high hedges full of hawthorn blossom in spring and wild roses with roadside wild flowers in summer.

This is still the only bit of countryside left and it has been violated by the widening of the road, the chopping down of trees and the grubbing out of hedges to make one huge prairie.

Lodge’s Pit This was situated in the middle of the fields that bordered the bottom of Havercroft Green and was a quarter to half a mile from the centre of the village. It was reached from Station Road and the bottom of the Green by a cinder cart track and from Mill Lane by a footpath along Lafflands that joined up to this track. Lafflands was then fenced off allotments and strip fields.

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It was only a small pit; its yard would not cover many acres.

The main buildings in the yard were the wooden headgear, the winding engine house, the boiler house with its square brick built chimney and the fan house for ventilating the underground workings. A small steam driven power plant supplied the electricity. The fitters’, the blacksmiths’ and the joiners’ shops were all combined in one building.

As the full tubs came off the cage they were coupled together and sent down the tramway, which ran through the fields, to the Midland Railway sidings and the Barnsley Canal coal dock at Old Royston. Only a field or two separated these from each other as the railway and canal ran parallel.

Around the reservoir and Cold Hiendley As today the reservoir provides a lovely country walk which was supposed to be three miles round, if you took no short cuts. The main changes have been on the far side. Before reaching Walton Woods, a path branches off Sandy Lane to run alongside the reservoir up to the reservoir house. There was a narrow bridge to cross which spanned a cut about 3 yards wide down which water ran when it was being pumped from the reservoir to feed the canal. It fascinated us to watch the water running over a small weir as we stood on the bridge as it formed a miniature waterfall. The pump was housed in a large brick structure with a high square chimney like a pit chimney belching out thick black smoke. We were not allowed to go near the place but could see the arm of the pump going up and down through the engine house windows as we stood on the bank. It was an old fashioned beam engine.

As we proceeded along the bank we came to another narrow wooden bridge spanning another weir. This only came into use if the reservoir got over full, the water spilling down the slope to the small Cold Hiendley reservoir.

The walk around the reservoir was a sheer delight for those who loved nature and the countryside. No wonder it was called a beauty spot and attracted visitors to make the walk.

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train for the day - that is if the weather was suitable. Some would walk round, some would picnic by the water making it resemble a miniature seaside resort with grass instead of sand, some would explore the woods of the Pits. Opposite the Pits, across the Cold Hiendley road was the cottage in the wood, a timber built affair. The people who lived there made jugs of tea and had a set of swings to entertain visitors’ children. An enterprising shopkeeper in Station Road had a stall at the top of the Pits selling sweets, pop, cigarettes, etc.

He did a brisk trade with it being so handy for all parts of the reservoir.

I have seen the water in all moods. It has looked as blue as the summer sky, calm and serene as a mill pond. It has been a wild grey green with large rolling waves topped with white foam hurling themselves against the stone lined banks of the lane to Wintersett like the sea against rocks, when there has been a westerly gale. We would be drenched with spray but no one ventured on the high bank by the reservoir house for fear of being blown off. At other times it has seemed sullen, threatening and lowering darkly the colour of pewter.

There have been winters when the cold has been so severe that the ice covering it has been thick enough for people to have skated and walked over it. At one time the band played for the skaters and it has been known for a horse and cart to be taken across.

Past the Pits we were on a country road with fields on either side when it made a right angled bend. We had a choice of ways. To the right was Cold Hiendley with its huddle of farms.

To the left across some fields was the tramway from Lodge’s pit running to the coal staithes on the canal at Old Royston. If the rope was running you had to wait for it to stop before crossing to the field path that led to Ellis Laithe. The path in front of us was known as the bridle path across Cold Hiendley common. This path brought us to the lower lane which was very narrow with high hedges on either side. On one side was a path unevenly paved with thick stone slabs. They must have been walked on for centuries, as they were quite hollow in the middle giving the slabs a concave appearance. To go 195

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right took us towards Chevet but we always preferred to turn left for a short distance until we came to a T-junction. We turned right along the shaft of the T until we came to Old Royston and the canal and its towpath, our intended destination. We always turned right. To the left was industry, Monckton Collieries and Coke ovens with their railway sidings leading to the main London-Leeds line of the Midland Railway.

To the right kept us in the heart of the countryside with its fields and woods. The towpath brought us to the humped back bridge that carried the road to Wood End across the canal. Climbing up the bank to this road we made for the junction for Cold Hiendley and back home across the fields.

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Part 5

Touched by events a scrapbook of the times 1911 - 1945 1911 Coronation of King George V My mother took me to get my china coronation mug at the tea held in the Ryecliffe field. Sandwiches and cakes were handed out in paper bags and after you got your tea from large urns you sat in the field and ate them. After this there were sports. I was nearly five at the time so do not remember much more about it except that it was sunny and lovely warm weather - it was summertime.

When it was the Silver Jubilee in 1935 we were given a day off from work and everywhere was decorated.

Tension in the coal industry 1912 Minimum wage strike I have no recollection of this because it probably did not affect my father who worked on the coke ovens at that time and they had not yet joined the miners’ union. They were in some union, I think it was solely for surfacemen.

1921 and 1926 Lockouts Dad went haymaking and harvesting for Charlesworths at Wintersett as well as hoeing and singling turnips with hand hoes. They used to come and ask for him. They paid him and gave him his meals. They used to have great thick sandwiches of their home cured ham. In those days they would cure the ham by hanging it up in the farmhouse kitchen or out house. The sandwiches they gave him were so thick he could not eat them all so he brought what was left home for us. They were welcome with us being on short commons and no money coming in. There was no strike pay.

The council gave out a few shillings a week to the real destitute, paid out by Mr. Batty, and that had to be repaid at a shilling a week when they started work. Dad could not get anything from the parish because he had not got a house full of kids and he had money in the Co-op. When that was done 197

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mother borrowed a bit from her uncle Henry Blackett to keep us going; he had told her to ask if ever she was in financial difficulties. Then she paid him back when it was all over and dad and me got working. The authorities ran soup kitchens but we were not allowed to go - mother’s accept no charity ethic. Mrs. Marshall used to bake teacakes for the miners’ children’s breakfast fund. There were comic football matches, ladies v. gents, etc. and a comic band which went to various places raising money. There were a few meetings which did not amount to much and were mainly hot air and propaganda.

The meetings which really mattered were those held in London. The local ones only told us what had taken place there.

These disputes occurred because the coal owners were cutting wages down. I know for sure it was the case in 1921 when they knocked off the Sankey money and the war wage.

1927 to 1938 When they started putting pits on short time one got into the habit of listening for the buzzer going. If it went it meant no work for the afternoon and night shift. If the pit worked in the afternoon the night men had to go and see if the notice said there was any work that night for them. To qualify for the dole a man had not to work more than three shifts out of the six in a week. If the pit happened to have enough wagons come into the yard which would keep it working for four days then dole could not be claimed. Sometimes there might only be one or two days work and the rest dole. Anybody on nights regular never got more than one shift of work; some weeks not even that. There was little chance of casual work; older men cultivated their allotments and gardens while the younger ones organized football and cricket matches or went long bike rides or hiking.

1936 6th August: explosion at Wharncliffe Woodmoor.

In Ryhill we only heard about it or read about it in the papers.

An old man who lived in the village had worked there for many years on the night shift and never had a night off. For some reason or another he decided that night not to go; being of retiring age he never worked again.

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1938 Holidays with pay The first was for only three days but we were able to visit relatives we had been unable to see for years. The following year it was extended to a full week and we managed a holiday by the seaside.

1939 Coming back from Scarborough we saw stations and important buildings being sandbagged, trenches being dug and shelters erected. Aircraft came over giving us demonstrations of low level flying to get us used to the idea of being strafed.

Now that armaments were required, suddenly there were not enough days in the week to do all the work. Anybody in the mining industry could have as much, and more, overtime as they could do. It was a pity that war had to come to create work instead of through the ordinary ways of a recovery of trade and business.

The Second World War - the Home Front 1939 11.15 a.m. 3rd September The wireless was switched on to hear Chamberlain’s broadcast and as we sat listening we could see the sun shining and it was quite hot. Everybody felt depressed and tears were shed. The thoughts were would it be worse than 1914 -18. The reservists had been called up two or three days beforehand and all the other young men expected to be called up. The feeling seemed to be if we have to fight let us get it over and done with. There was also a feeling that everybody would be in it in some form or other and that air raids would commence almost immediately. It was expected that troops would be across the water and fighting in the next few days. Instead there was a waiting period. At national level sports stopped for a time and when they started up again, especially football, it was with scratch teams. I am not sure if cricket did not stop altogether. There were still the pictures and games at local level.

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Air raid precautions and civil defence Everybody made preparations to black out their homes either by putting wooden shutters up or blackout material to the windows. We used a thick black material and it proved very effective. The village generally was very well blacked out.

They even took the gas lamps off the standards. Anybody showing a pinprick of light was soon told about it by the air raid wardens. When an air raid had been alerted they were most vigilant. Anybody smoking a cigarette and exposing the glow was told to put it out. Until we got used to it the blackout was very inconvenient. Evening services in church and chapel were held earlier to beat it. We were able to get to town although the bus services were cut down but it was best to get there and back before blackout. We could use a flash lamp (torch) if it was held down and the light concealed until only a small point of light showed. This also applied to all road vehicles from bicycles to buses. Headlights had to be covered until only a small slit of light showed. The blackout was very bad and in a fog it was double blackout.

All signposts and milestones were taken up in case of invasion when the church bells would be rung, otherwise it was forbidden to ring them. The Home Guard guarded bridges and railways, the collieries and anything that was of national importance.

In the early days the most frightening thing about air raids was the thought of being caught far from a shelter and wondering if the enemy would use gas and would he only come at night or all the day through. If you had not got an outside shelter or a cellar to strengthen, you put a strong kitchen table against the least vulnerable wall in the house as protection against falling masonry.

I only had to use a public shelter once. It was warm and cosy inside but tended to get a bit stuffy. The shelters in our village were scattered and not too comfortable so the majority felt that they would be better in an open space where they could lie down if they heard anything dropping. Others would stay indoors and stick it out. This was possible in a village but would not have done in a town. When the siren went people would get up and hang about waiting for something to happen.

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The hardier ones would stay in bed and try and sleep, especially if they had to be up early. They would rely on those who were up to wake them if the raid looked like becoming too bad.

1940 -1944 Sheffield Blitz: the nights of 12/13th and 15/16th December 1940.

Memories of those nights include the sound of the planes going over, the anti-aircraft fire, the booming of the heavy bombs detonating; the glow on the horizon of fires burning and also the searchlights in the sky. The vibrations of the bombs could be felt in our village. Reports came of streets being levelled and of air raid shelters blown up with people inside - it was terrible.

March 1941 A stick of bombs was dropped from Shafton Lane (but missing Monckton pit) towards the fields north of Royston facing Notton. One was delayed action and went off the following afternoon.

Two or three bombs were dropped in the fields between Walton Woods and Wintersett hamlet where they had a dummy aerodrome. It was rather frightening because we were not used to such loud detonations.

When enemy aircraft came over we could hear them flying round and round as though trying to find the pits. They dropped a bomb which fell in Kinsley fields between Monckton No.3 and Hemsworth pits. When it came down it made such terrible screeching and we wondered where it was going to drop and was it meant for us. The explosion did not materialize and we breathed a sigh of relief. Next day the vicar of Ryhill and the dentist crawled gingerly towards it for fear it was an unexploded bomb. When they got near enough they found it was a fire bomb and the pieces which were left were exhibited for the duration of the war in Ryhill church.

Another night they came over and dropped fire bombs on Hemsworth colliery sidings and set some coal wagons on fire.

Bombs were dropped between Nostell and Wragby. An A.R.P. 201

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man was blown up the next afternoon when he went to investigate one bomb which must have been a delayed action one.

4. 30 a.m. 6th June 1944 The first I knew that D-day had taken place was when I got up for work and saw hundreds of planes flying over from the north east and east. I guessed it had happened then and when we got to work we were told that the invasion of Europe had really started.

Christmas Eve 1944 The most frightening sound was the doodlebug. We used to wait for its engine stopping because that was when it dropped and exploded. As long as we could hear the engine going away from overhead we would heave a sigh of relief and know the danger was past. One came over very low and frightened us all out of our wits. We learned later that it had dropped on a hillside near Huddersfield.

Getting the news We always liked a daily paper. At various times we took the Daily Mail, Daily Express, Daily News, Daily Chronicle (these latter eventually amalgamated and were known as the News Chronicle). Then there was the Daily Herald. We always took the Leeds Mercury. We did acquire a few books in the circulation war because they were the sort we had an interest in at the time. Also it helped the unemployed chaps who had been given the job of canvassing. We are still (1976) using a bread knife got by saving the serial numbers of a well known periodical of the time. When the canvassing campaigns ceased we stopped taking those dailies and stuck to the Leeds Mercury, which later amalgamated with the Yorkshire Post.

Then there was the wireless. When we first heard a neighbour’s crystal set through the earphones we thought it was magic to hear music and words coming through the air and being caught on the crystal without any visible means apart from a wire stretched between two poles and connected to the set. I obtained a blue print and made my first one valve 202

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set. I could not get a sound until a friend who understood them found that I had made one wrong connection. He put it right and then it was magic through the air until I built a two valve set and instead of earphones it was a loudspeaker. We could move about and everyone could hear at the same time.

In spite of the wireless newspapers remained popular. In those days journalism seemed better, the news more interesting and reported in more detail. Items about crimes and foreign events were made to read like a story and hold your interest. Some carried articles which were educational.

Others had stories of fiction or serialized books. Local journalism is not as good now. Then there would be a full account in the local paper about a village event or a local personality that would cover inches of column space now we are lucky to get two lines of bare facts.

Dad died on 25th July 1993 (Ryhill Feast - his 87th) in his room at Victoria House Nursing Home, the old Ryhill Vicarage, next to the church where he was a choirboy. His room was in sight (but no longer sound) of the dismantled track of the “old Great Central Railway� and with magnificent views over the reservoir to Wintersett, Walton and beyond. From its window he could watch the same midsummer sun still setting with that brassy glow which used to mock young boys abed regretting the hours of daylight being wasted.

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One Young Woman’s War 1939 to 1945 Joan Fenlon (written Spring 1974) 1939/1940 children’s nanny and voluntary war work It was a funny year 1939, a year of apprehension, it seems so far away now, but I will tell you the things that I remember.

Russian troops marching into Poland and Hitler’s activities in Germany were watched silently by every nation. Mr. Chamberlain had flown to Munich in 1938 and we thought that war had been averted. It was not so and in his broadcast to the nation on 3rd September he solemnly told us that once more Britain and Germany were at war. My parents were silent, remembering back to another war, for us teenagers it did not have any reality. Slowly things began to happen; the Territorials had already been called up and men and boys from the village began to disappear into the forces. Seven of these were my cousins although my two brothers were turned down as medically unfit. This rankled with them; one worked in a steel works and the other was a fireman on the railway. Mums bought yards and yards of blackout material and were busily lining curtains. My Dad made boards from plywood to fit our living room windows and these were fastened up every night.

Gran’s bay window was quite a problem, it was so big; so we covered the top half with black paper and on this we pasted pinups from magazines. It looked quite gay really.

I had been training as a children’s nanny but my two young charges had been sent to boarding school and I now had a new post. I was to care for the twin babies of a doctor who lived at Kirkburton which was near Huddersfield. The doctor’s house was in the grounds of the mental hospital where he worked. This was very new to me. However, I soon settled in and got used to the patients walking round the grounds. The war had made a difference here. The Home Farm had to take over the task of being almost self-supporting for the hospital.

More land was ploughed for vegetables, the piggery was extended, there were more cows and hens than ever before, and tomatoes, cucumbers, marrows and lettuce were all 204

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grown under glass. Staff dwindled; the young men went into the forces, domestic staff found work in munitions factories for much more pay. Patients were put to work on the land but they seemed to like being outdoors. They worked well with a quiet obedience; women patients worked in laundries, ironing rooms, kitchens, wards and scrubbed miles and miles of corridors. In fact their shoes turned up at the toes through kneeling to scrub! I mostly helped in the therapy department where patients made rugs and baskets and did raffia embroidery. I also helped in the kitchens. The doctors’ wives started a Comforts Fund for the army and we each contributed sixpence a week to this to buy knitting wool. It was only fourpence an ounce at that time and through the winter we knitted piles of pullovers, helmets, scarves, gloves and socks.

Soon the empty mills in Kirkburton were filled with troops, Royal Corps of Signals they were, and below the Home Farm we acquired an ack-ack unit. The anti aircraft unit was to protect the hospital as Hitler had said that he would wipe out these inferior beings in mental hospitals - his was to be a perfect world! Our boys were in France but everything seemed quiet and the war was rather remote. The Phoney War everyone called it. My friend, Gwyneth, and I helped at a Salvation Army canteen and reading room set up in the village for the soldiers. We went from door to door begging books, magazines and comics to start a mini-library as the boys had nowhere to go and nothing to do in their spare time. We had some happy times, they were a grand lot, but as each unit was trained they moved out and another unit would arrive.

In early summer the doctor, his wife, the twins and I went off for a holiday to Rhos-on- Sea, North Wales. Over the Pennines in their old Ford car, all rattles and squeaks it was and it groaned its way up every hill! It was really something to me at the time though, as we had never owned a car. I felt very posh. When we arrived at the little town it was very quiet and seemed deserted. We found the cottage and the key was under a mat. We had a meal, unpacked and went to bed early. We were all tired from our journey. The following morning we didn’t need any alarm clock. The sound of army boots marching up and down the street and the sergeant 205

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hollering were a rude awakening - it was 7.30! After breakfast we decided to look around the town and buy our rations.

Whole streets were cordoned off and the sound of marching feet echoed around us. Many people had left the town, large houses were now officers’ quarters, and the parks and open spaces housed soldiers in long wooden huts. We made for the beach but the joy of watching the babies play in the sand was not to be. Huge concrete blocks and endless coils of barbed wire lined the beaches as far as we could see. Part of the beach was used for target practice and a huge sign headed Ministry of Defence said Danger - Keep Away. There was nothing to do; even the cinema had been taken over by the army. I remember the film was The Magnificent Obsession but you had to know a soldier to be able to go in!

In the evenings I used to sit on the sea wall and watch the convoys go down from Liverpool, they looked like toy boats on the skyline. We found a sandy patch by the side of the River Conwy and here we took the children every day.

1940 Dunkirk and the Sheffield Blitz Suddenly the doctor was recalled to the hospital - it was Dunkirk. The news was grave and we were told to stand by to take extra patients. Vans arrived with beds and blankets, pillows and sheets. The patients we had already, had their beds moved closer together and we managed to clear three wards. Everything was very hush-hush and for several days after our rush round nothing happened. Our new patients from Dunkirk eventually arrived in a fleet of buses and shuffled into reception. They were not injured in any way, just deeply shocked. Blank boyish faces looked back at us, their minds had just shut out the horrors they had seen. We even had to spoon-feed them. Many of them recovered in the months that followed and were able to go home or back to their units, but others became long-term patients - I have never forgotten them.

We began to get ready for Christmas. Dozens of cakes and puddings were made; and by raffles and an outsize begging can we tried to achieve a present for every patient for Christmas morning. One Thursday evening, around 7.30, we were given an air raid warning - 12th December it was. We 206

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took all the patients down into the shelters underneath the hospital. We had forms and blankets and a kitchen to make cups of tea. Gwyn and I went up to the main hall for milk and we saw incendiary bombs dropping in Cocked Hat Wood. Our ack-ack boys opened fire and we had to run back from the main gates down the lane, debris falling like leaves all around us. As we brushed it off our hoods it was still hot. The plane drifted away and nothing else happened so back we went for the milk. Our ack-ack sergeant was waiting for milk too and as he collected his can he said, “You needn’t worry it’s not us tonight, sweetheart, it’s Sheffield. They’re not half getting a pasting.” As we looked across we saw a terrific glow in the sky and red flashes like exploding fireworks. I stood there quietly watching. My brother and his wife and an aunt and uncle lived in Sheffield. From my home in Royston my parents had a better view; on a clear day we could see the barrage balloons over Sheffield.

The following morning my father packed a suitcase with food and warm clothing and set off for the city in the hope that he would find them alive. The bus was stopped on the outskirts of Sheffield and only people who had relatives there were allowed to carry on by foot. It was unbelievable - how could anyone have survived all this? Everywhere people were digging frantically to release people trapped under rubble and bombed homes. Many streets were cordoned off and wardens were shouting, “Not down there! Try —- Street!” So on he trudged. Walsh’s huge store was just a frame of twisted metal. Destruction was everywhere. The army was shouting out instructions to avoid holes and walk carefully around them.

Father cut across to head for Hillsborough. “Not down there, chum! Pick your way through West Bar.” In the middle of this street was a huge land mine complete with parachute. As it had not come into contact with anything it had not gone off and was dealt with by the bomb disposal unit. Past the casualties, ambulances, gas and electricity workers, police and army, Dad at last stood outside the block of flats where my brother lived. It was still standing! All the windows were blown in and the metal frames twisted into weird shapes. Up to the fourth floor, and there he found them trying to cook a meal on an old stove. Tired and dirty, they looked at him, 207

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“Have you brought us any water?” He could have wept; he had never thought to bring water but he did have a flask of tea. They had no water, gas or electricity and the whole flat was filthy. Everything they had was damaged and slivers of glass were embedded in the walls. After their meal they had to take up the linoleum and nail it over the window frames to keep out the cold, a door was missing but under the bed they had found their kitten shivering with fright. From then on her name was Dusty.

The blast that had caused the damage came from a landmine which had landed in a nearby avenue. Four houses had collapsed completely and so had the chapel. But the cinema still stood. Its roof had vanished and left a straight line of bricks around the top. The houses had fallen on top of a surface shelter but when the helpers dug down to the occupants they were found to be unharmed except for one boy with a broken wrist.

It had been a long day and father knew that he must get back to Royston as my mother would be waiting anxiously. He looked at his brother and his son and their two wives and urged them to come home with him. They shook their heads, “We cannot go away there is so much to do.” Grateful that they were alive he picked his way back through the sadness of this proud city. The smell of smoke and burning lingered everywhere, tired faces toiled on; but he was an unwell man and could not stay.

The bombers came again to Sheffield the following Sunday night. They followed the river hoping to devastate the steel works - but extra guns had been brought in and they really let them have it. In the two raids shelters had received direct hits and some of these were sealed up with the dead inside. A public house, where more than one hundred people had taken refuge in its cellars, also received a direct hit. For years afterwards at Christmas time holly wreaths were laid on the pavements and buildings where people had died, now they lay them in the Peace Gardens.

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1941 Conscripted for war work The twins kept me busy but all my free time was spent in the hospital itself giving a helping hand. We had concerts every Sunday evening for the troops and we helped with refreshments. Gwyn and I had made two special friends, Ian and Paddy, but like other wartime friendships ours had to end, as the boys were sent overseas. By this time the North African campaign was under way. Ian promised to come back and take me to see Bonny Scotland but he never returned.

Paddy lost both legs and was blinded and died in the hospital ship on his way home.

Soon the hard but happy days at the hospital were to be over for me. We domestic staff were told that we must do work of national importance and if we volunteered we could choose what we would like to do. I fancied joining the forces so I applied for the WRAF as well as the ATS and the WRNS and even the Land Army. Each time I received the same reply Under the requisite medical standard. I felt fine and I did not have flat feet! I stayed with the twins until I had to register for war work. I was sent to a training centre at West Bar in Sheffield. We were to learn how to do the electrical wiring of an aircraft. We started, however, on cars! We were given a blueprint to work from and worked on wooden frames on a wall, mine was a Hillman. It all had to work. We had small bulbs for headlights, etc. and it was connected up to wet batteries on the floor. After this we had the shell of an aircraft to work on and I became a dab hand with a screwdriver. We also went to school where, once again, we wrestled with decimals and fractions. We were given lots of homework too, all about circuits and elementary electricity. I used to do mine in the park and watched the ATS girls winding down the barrage balloon. They folded it up and pushed it into a shelter.

At the end of our training I passed my exam and was told to report to the Avro works at Leeds.

I never saw the Avro works though. I had been living with my brother in their flat whilst I was training. It was my last week at the Centre. On the Monday evening I was going out to meet one of the girls. I ran along the landing to the lift vestibule, pressed the button and when the button light went out 209

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assumed that the lift was on my landing. I opened the door and fell into space! The lift was faulty and had not left the basement I fell on to the top of it. It was 11th August. Long weeks in hospital followed and I owe my life to the staff of the City General Hospital.

The war went on and you did not get away from it just because you were in hospital. Nurses brought wool and needles. “Do you think you could knit a scarf for my boyfriend? He’s in the RAF.” It made a change from khaki. In October a cousin that I was very fond of was killed. He was a rear gunner, just 20 years old. The war did not leave you; it crept up on you at every corner.

Air raid sirens caused commotions from time to time. Every patient able to be moved was laid on her pillows under the bed, the mattress being left on top for protection. As I was strapped to a contraption of metal I had to stay put along with three other patients. One night bombs fell in Burngreave Road and the blast blew in the windows at my side of the ward. I was hit on the head by the blackout board and showered with glass. Lights were put out and the open fires quickly smothered with sand. We waited for more bombs to follow but none did, we were lucky! The guns were making a real racket as we shivered under the bedclothes but we all kept calm until the All Clear. By this time the day nurses had come on duty to help clear up the mess and we all had a lovely cup of tea laced with brandy. It had been a rough night and we were all allowed to sleep until dinnertime. By then casualties had been brought in, the windows had been boarded up and we were all ship shape again. We had only one other night similar to this whilst I was there but the other girls had spent several nights under the bed. I came home to Royston for Christmas and by February I could get up. I remember Dr. Henderson, the first day I walked, saying, “Lass, you’re only as far through as a kipper!” I weighed six stones.

Wartime Royston 1942-1945.

Nothing seemed to have changed, except that Dad had two allotments instead of one and Mum seemed to have developed a mania for pickling and bottling. Dad had to make 210

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her an extra pantry shelf. Jars and jars of onions, beetroot, red cabbage, marrow and ginger jam and green tomato chutney; bottles of pears, plums and apple rings too - and these had all been bought for 2d a pound from orchards on High Street. We dried peas and bottled green beans in layers of salt, and these, helped with cabbage, sprouts and parsnips, saw us through the winter. We also sold produce to local greengrocers.

On meatless days Mum made vegetable stew with fourpenn’orth of bones from the butcher. This was made in a big black iron pan on an open fire and we had this with Yorkshire puddings or dumplings. One day we received a food parcel from America which caused us great excitement.

Dad seemed so slow levering the nails out. It was a wooden box and he wanted it for his tools. The contents were butter, sugar, tea, 1lb currants, corned beef, spam, a tin of pears and a pound of rice. As we in Britain had collected money to buy Tanks for Russia so the Americans had collected money to send food parcels to British miners. We were very grateful to them. Anything that was not rationed we had to queue for offal, chicken, rabbit, sausages, dripping, fruit and, of course, cigarettes! Wallpaper had vanished and we painted over ours with gloss paint and it stayed like that until 1949 when wallpaper began to come back into the shops.

We made eggless fruitcake for Christmas and Mum used to beat half a cup of cold thick cornflour into a quarter pound of margarine to make it go further. When it was my 21st birthday I could not have a party, just three friends to tea; but Mum managed a sponge cake with pink icing on top - no candles!

Birthday cards were scarce and very small.

Our next door neighbours kept pigs and every day the children went from door to door collecting potato peelings and food scraps to help feed them. The bran meal and potato peelings were boiled in an old copper outside, the smell was awful.

They always seemed to have a pig hanging up in the bathroom or one salting in the bath and from time to time we were given a bit of offal or bacon. I think it was for putting up with the smell, but mother baked their bread in return for her 211

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bit of the pig! In small ways the Black Market flourished. I swapped my sweet coupons for clothing coupons and petrol coupons could be had at a price. Twice Mum acquired a piece of pork, which was brought round on a horse drawn cart, covered by cauliflowers. The second time the man had the police hot on his horse’s tail. So he never dared come again.

I began to get around the village again. All the iron railings had vanished. Mum’s aluminium pans had gone to be melted down. Slogans were everywhere: Be like Dad - keep Mum; Careless talk costs lives; Dig for victory - I can’t remember them all but they were in every bus and train, at stations, on hoardings, in British Restaurants and even in the doctor’s surgery. Our armies seemed to be being pushed back everywhere. We had weathered the Battle of Britain and the bombing of all our big cities in the recent months. Alvar Liddell read the news with great solemnity; Mr. Churchill gave us pep talks and never for a moment let us believe that we could lose.

Lord Haw Haw gloated over us with his Germany Calling broadcasts - how we hated him! We had a few evacuee children in Royston mainly from the Manchester, Liverpool or Bootle areas. We also had Bevin Boys billeted with families.

One boy I knew came from Gillingham in Kent. I got tired of carrying my gasmask everywhere, it seemed a dreadful nuisance. We scuttled through dark streets with our torches dipped to the ground. Buses and cars had hoods over their headlights. Everyday buses full of girls went to Leeds to work on munitions. My friend had joined the Land Army and was now on a farm in Carlisle. In the lanes you could watch the Italian prisoners of war hedging and ditching. They were billeted on farms in Notton village; they worked hard and were no trouble to anyone. From time to time we would hear of someone we knew who had been killed or posted missing.

Our milk boy was killed; he was on motor torpedo boats. He was a bonny lad, we missed him. A few incendiary bombs were dropped one night in a line from Milgate Street across Foster’s Gardens towards Newtown Avenue. There were no casualties, only a few hens in a hen pen.

My cousin was a signalwoman on the railway. She worked in the signal box at Old Royston. My brother was still on the 212

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trains taking coal, steel and munitions up and down the country. Sometimes he would be away a few days if it was a long journey. The crew would stay over night at different hostels; a bunk bed and a bacon sandwich and they would be off again the following day with different freight. He used to cook egg and bacon on his shovel on the engine’s fire. As he was away at nights and as Dad was a firewatcher, Mum had to sit in the shelter during alerts on her own with the cat for company. Another cousin went to train with the Canadian Air Force. I was bored with having nothing to do. My sick pay was now only 4s 6d a week. I began to knit jumpers for people and charged 6d for each ounce of wool used. I only earned about five shillings a week, but it helped.

Royston Telephone Exchange At long last I was well enough to do light work and was given a sitting down job by the Labour Exchange. This was how I came to be a telephonist at Royston Telephone Exchange. It was night duty work and another girl, Vera, and I were to cover from 5.15 p.m. when the day staff went off duty until 8.30 a.m. when they resumed again. It was split into shifts 5.15 to 11p.m. one day and 11 to 8.30 the next. We had to do one month’s training for which I received no pay and because I was working I lost my 4s 6d. Vera was married to a soldier so she did have a little money. The first thing we had to do was sign the Official Secrets Act. It sounded very important but it meant we had not to tell anyone about anything that we overheard. After we had qualified we were paid 30s a week.

We enjoyed the work. We were very busy during the evenings as this was the cheap rate period. You could ring almost anywhere in Britain for a shilling and local calls were 2d from a call box with no time limit. We had to make out a ticket for each call; where from, where to and if it was long distance it had to be timed and priced. Priority calls had to be answered first and those numbers were police, doctors, nurses, fire service, first aid posts and call boxes and, of course, Mr. Griffiths our local M. P. who often had calls to and from the House of Commons.

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Through the night the Sheffield night supervisor would come through with test calls to see that we were still awake - we were supposed to answer within two seconds. He was also the person who gave us air raid warning signals - purple when planes were over the coast and red when they were heading our way. Sirens were not sounded until the second warning but both warnings were given to the police and colliery as they operated the sirens. When we had a Red Alert I could hear sirens wailing from miles away as other areas joined in. Next came the sound of running feet of firemen and others hurrying through the night to man first aid posts and warden posts. The policeman on duty always asked me if I was all right and within minutes I would be swamped with calls. I did not have time to think about German planes up above, I can tell you! Each service had to check in with its headquarters and it was quite hectic. I was always glad to receive the All Clear. I was told that I was not to leave my post unless the village was actually bombed and then not until advised by the police to do so! In this event happening we had a very large, impressive envelope in the drawer and we were to take this with us into the shelter.

In large black print it said Secret: Government Property. I never did find out what was in it and perhaps it was a good thing. And I never used the shelter, that was half full of water.

Our office was gloomy and cold, peeling green distempered walls, a forty watt light bulb and a very small coal ration. We had one quarter of tea for five staff for one week so the nicest present I could be given was a packet of tea. I would have my cuppa around two-thirty when I was beginning to feel rather tired. Mum gave me two tablespoons of milk in an aspirin bottle and I usually had dripping sandwiches. Apart from our swivel chair we only had an old deck chair to sit in and we fell through the canvas of this several times. We had to patch it up with hessian. Many nights I have carried coal to work in an old carpet bag and sometimes Dad would make us briquettes from coal dust. They lasted quite a long time and helped with a log of wood when our coal ration was gone. Every morning when I arrived home, without fail Mum would yell out, “Don’t have any milk in your tea, there’s only enough for the cat!” I dratted that cat even though I loved him - tea without milk or sugar is just not my cup of tea.

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Voluntary Fire Service work In the spring I was told that I must join some voluntary service so I opted for the National Fire Service. Several of us joined together and we were taken in a van to Barnsley to enrol and be fitted out with uniforms. We were each given a tunic, a cap, a skirt, a greatcoat, a tin helmet and a service respirator.

Very excited, I came home to try them on - I looked like something right out of World War One. The waistline was round my hips and the skirt hem round my ankles. They had never been made for my five feet three. However, after a bit of needlework they looked “reasonable”. I begged a white shirt from my brother and Dad’s funeral tie but I had no black shoes. Coupons being very precious I dashed on to my aunt’s. Her boys were all in the forces so she gave me a pair of John’s size 6’s. My feet were four and a half so I had to pack them with several insoles made of lino. The first time I went on duty I thought I was the cat’s whiskers!

Training began on Churchfields in Barnsley where we marched up and down, down and up - it was hard work. Then I went on to a training centre at Wickersley and spent one week of my summer holiday there. We learned how to use a field switchboard to give and receive messages as well as first aid, field cooking, gas drill and the manning of a pump. We had to wear our respirators and go through the Gas Van. This van was filled with tear gas and it lingered on our clothing and made our eyes smart. For pump drill we wore a one piece garment - a siren suit made popular by Mr. Churchill. We had to take our hose and scramble over and under all manner of obstacles to reach our target and put out the fire which was actually a fire bucket. We got bruised elbows and scuffed knees every time but there was great competition to be first to put out the fire. I had several weekends at this centre and enjoyed every minute.

At Royston Station we had to do one night of duty each week.

We had a small room with four bunk beds and a coke stove that let out awful fumes so that we had to have all the windows open whatever the weather. We had to sleep partly dressed in case of an alert during the night. We coughed, shivered and dozed until 7 a.m. when Mr. Smith made us a lovely cuppa and we could go home.

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Because I could do duty during the day I was moved to a larger station at Barnsley and had to pay my bus fares out of my pocket money. We received no pay but after four hours duty we were entitled to a meal. Towards the end of the war we were paid sixpence for each four hour period of duty.

When Liverpool and Bootle Docks were bombed the fires were still burning three weeks later - large stocks of sugar, tea and lease-lend food from America were stored there. Firemen from Barnsley volunteered to go over there to help and we had a busy time helping to kit them out. The men got their appliances ready while we stocked a mobile canteen and packed extra clothing for them. Within a few days we had an S.O.S. from them for extra socks and boots as these were literally burnt off their feet. I enjoyed belonging to this unit and visited every fire station in the Sheffield region as I was responsible for Red Cross contributions. I met many wonderful people and made many friends and I stayed in the Fire Service after the war was ended.

The End D-Day came and our gallant boys went once more to France, we were surely winning now. The day did come - it had to; but I felt no jubilation only a deep thankfulness that it was all over.

We made a marvellous party for the children, every street did; jellies and dried fruit hoarded for years for this day came out.

It was wonderful to see their faces. Slowly the boys came home again - the ones who survived - and we began our new tomorrow. Whatever that had in store for us.

(Mrs. Fenlon (nee Joan Coope) wrote this account in response to the appeal by Royston Church School top class pupils for memories of the Home Front to add real life experiences to their history project and exhibition. Although substantial sections of Joan’s story were printed in follow up booklets this is the first time that it has been printed in full. Sadly, Mrs. Fenlon died a few years ago and we print it now for a new and wider readership with the kind permission of her husband and family to whom we express our gratitude and appreciation.)

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Sally Wright’s Shop E L Edmonds L’Angteterre est une nation de boutiquiers (England is a nation of shopkeepers) Napoleon on St. Helena Everybody in the village knew Sally Wright’s Shop. It was at the top of the Village Green for one thing, and everybody passed that way at sometime during the week. Another advantage, particularly for top-enders, was that it was just that bit nearer than the nearest bigger shops like the Co-op at the Wells. But even more important, she sold pretty well nigh everything you could think of. She also allowed you to buy on tick, that is, provided she knew you beforehand. She kept a little book and wrote up laboriously in longhand everything that people bought in this way. Then, when payday came at the end of the week, she totted up what they owed her and hopefully they duly paid what they owed. Then another week on tick would begin. Her so-called cash flow was very small and very simple. There were no such things as tills in those days, just a drawer with some little circular compartments in it for silver and copper, and a clip underneath for the notes.

There weren’t too many of these about.

Her shop was a wonder to see. It was really just a converted house, with a little window of sixteen small panes. It was stacked high with almost everything that we, as children, could think of. At Christmas time she put in some little lights of blue, red, yellow, and green which made it look like fairyland even more. There was a little courtyard outside where you could sit on warm days and where our little gang could meet on the way home from school. We also had our marble ‘podges’ here, but more of this later. One of our most treasured pastimes was to share information about what kind of halfpennyworths we had bought. (For the benefit of children today, we usually received a Saturday penny as pocket money. It may not seem much today, but for us it seemed to go a very long way).

Certainly Sally Wright’s shop never lacked variety of things you could buy either for a penny or a ha’penny. There were 217

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lots of toffees and sour plums (green sweets about half the size of a Victoria plum). There were lots of Liquorice Allsorts (Bassett’s, I think), and there were jelly babies, and Mintoes.

But the speciality was acid drops, all of them in big bottles with a good solid stopper on the top. You could buy a halfpennyworth of these, and then watch her weigh them with an awe-inspiring ritual. She would take down the bottle first and shake it, presumably to loosen the sweets. She would then open the top and, with a gleaming little white trowel, poke inside. A halfpenny, as I recall, would usually buy us four or five sweets, some plain, some wrapped in paper. Alternatively, it would buy two big gob stoppers if we wanted. These changed colour as we sucked them, and we took great delight in showing to each other how and when these rainbow colours changed. Then there were little soft caskets of sherbet fizz, with a little bit of black Spanish stuck on top: something like a firework. Usually the Spanish melted first in your mouth, making further extraction difficult; but you could always put your finger into the saturate and suck out all the lemon crystals in finger-licking style.

One of our great prizes was for what we called Garnet’s toffees. They were little slabs about two inches by one inch by half an inch, and wrapped in paper. Inside each one you would find a little half-inch square of white, with a letter on it in blue.

You had to get four of these different letters to make a word, then take it back to Sally, who in turn would give you a free Garnet out of the tray if she knew the word and approved it.

This approval was very important, so we were always kept on the right lines.

Once, Sally sported a bran tub. You paid a halfpenny and then made a lucky dip: only one dip however. As boys will, we foraged around to make sure we got as big a mystery package as possible, and she soon got wise to this dodge. The prizes were very simple - assorted toffees, lollipops, talismans, little miniatures: all very cheap, but extra. We also got moral sentiments with some of the toffees. These were indeed a mixed bag. One might simply read “you will be lucky in love” (merciless teasing and girl-naming or boy-naming would follow!) Another might read “laziness is the parent of vice and 218

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immorality”. I don’t think we ever understood what vice and immorality were, but certainly Miss Pickering did: for her, inattention was laziness. Sally’s Christmas crackers were also rich in this kind of moral advice, I recall.

The small store has a fascination all of its own; and Sally Wright’s shop was no exception. There was always a mixture of scents to identify. Flitches of bacon hung on big hooks underneath the ceiling. Homemade jams and chutneys were on the shelves. Always, a big bag of potatoes stood close to the door. She alternated between Red Kings and King Edwards. Basic vegetables such as turnip, spinach, cauliflower, and carrots were always in abundance in light wooden trays. Home grown tomatoes, lettuce, mushrooms, kidney beans, all appeared when in season. Only rarely did she go in for such foreign refinements as avocados or artichokes. She always had lots of broccoli and cabbage, both of the green and the red variety. Pickled red cabbage was a great delicacy, as was pickled beetroot. All these vegetables were local produce brought in from people’s allotments. We were great allotment keepers in our village, and ‘top-enders’ sported two fields of them up Pond Lane. I remember once our headmaster, Mr. Thornton, persuaded her to take some white turnips which we had grown in the school garden: they did not sell too well!

On the counter were unwrapped loaves: baking day was every Friday. Then too there was always open a bag of yeast. I was never quite sure what the yeast was used for, though mother sometimes sent me down to buy a pennyworth. In some mystic way, it was used in making bread: that much I knew. It always had a rather pungent, but pleasant, aroma and gave us a funny feeling when we squeezed it between our fingers.

We must have been a sore trial to her on occasion. We would try creeping into the shop without her knowing it. We never succeeded; It was really quite uncanny. No sooner did we cross the threshold than she would come gliding in through the curtain over her little backdoor, like a ghostly galleon in full sail. She never wore anything else but black, and her black dress, I remember, came down to her ankles. There was a 219

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rumour (and I rather think we boys began it) that in some sort of way she had set up an electric beam at her shop door.

Whoever went past it broke this ray and somehow told her it was time to move into the shop. There were accretions to the legend too. The ray stopped clocks! It could paralyse you! It made you tell the truth! Ut fama ad alta atria. So did rumour go rocketing through the high halls of Royston.

None of us ever knew how she lived. I doubt she had any life, apart from the shop. Compulsory closing hours were unheard of in those days; but in any case she would have disregarded them had they existed. Any night of the week, Monday to Saturday, her little kerosene lamp would be burning brightly on the counter; and if the shop was closed, everybody knew all you had to do was to go into the adjoining little courtyard and knock on her front door. She would then move through into the shop and open the shop door. I suppose there was a back door to the house, if only to lead to the outhouse. But I couldn’t be sure of this; some adjoining cottages called Quarry Hill Cottages were built almost up to the quarry face itself. In short, no matter the day or the time of day or night, one thing was certain: Sally Wright’s shop would be open. This could be very helpful on Sundays and on public holidays.

Only once do I recall seeing inside her little house. We had been playing marbles inside her small courtyard and I had cut my knee - I nearly said again: my grandfather used to say to my mother, “Never let that boy be a steeplejack because he’ll certainly fall down”. And true it was that I was always climbing trees or walls and invariably falling down, scrubbing my knees in the process. We had a game called dare, and looking back I am amazed at the kind of things which we dared each other to do. Anyway, I had been kneeling down to play roll-ups, an alternative game to podge, another game of marbles which we played in those days. I had caught my knee on a sharp piece of stone and it bled rather profusely. So I had to go and have it bandaged in Mrs. Sally Wright’s front parlour. It was quite spellbinding. I remember for one thing how dark it was inside.

There was an old grandfather clock in the corner with the phases of the moon on its face. A framed picture of a bearded gentleman hung over the mantelpiece: presumably Mr Wright 220

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at sometime or other. The fireplace was one of the oldfashioned Yorkshire Range type. It had a hob on the left-hand side, with a huge copper kettle resting on it. The tablecloth was a veritable Joseph’s coat of many colours. On one wall, there was a painting of a lady holding on her shoulder what I took to be a kind of urn, or pitcher of water.

Be that as it may, Sally Wright produced a large wicker basket with all sorts of things in it: bandages, a bottle of iodine (I had seen that many times before), pieces of pink lint, and also a tin which when opened was full of small pins. The tin was round, yellow and brown, with the words inscribed on it Smooth as a Baby’s Bottom. I had no idea what that meant at the time but I think it was a proprietary brand of pipe tobacco. Anyway, Sally Wright bandaged my knee up with so much bandage that I could scarcely walk home. I certainly had to hobble because in no way could I bend my knee. But she was very kind and meant well, I am sure - I only hope the sight of blood didn’t upset her.

All this, and so much of it, and so long ago. But when later I read the story of Ginger and Pickles I knew exactly the kind of shop they kept. Indeed, when I was sixteen years old, I made a pilgrimage to Sawrey in Westmorland to see Beatrix Potter.

Perhaps in some curious way I thought she would be like Sally Wright. Nothing could be further from the truth-but that’s another story.

Yet history has a habit of repeating itself. Some fifty years later, I was down in Estevan, in sunny Saskatchewan, and had time to kill before giving a lecture. Wandering down one of the less frequented streets, I came across a Sally Wright shop. It had a little of everything in the small window: even liquorice roots-those long yellow roots which were popular with us when chewing gum and its various refinements such as bubblegum had never been heard of. There were little sugar bird’s nests, with multicoloured spice eggs on top - these had always been one of Sally Wright’s specials.

I spent quite a bit in the shop before I plucked up courage to ask her what I really wanted to ask. In the meantime, she was 221

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so very friendly: she even brought her husband from the back parlour to come and talk to me as well. I asked her if, by any chance, her mother’s name had been Sally. But she shook her head. How I wished she had been Sally Wright’s daughter!

I have had playmates, I have had companions In my days of childhood, in my joyful school days: All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

Ed note: E L Edmonds was born in Royston in 1916. His work in education culminated in a professorial appointment at Prince Edward Island University, Canada in the late 1960’s.

He has lived there ever since but still maintains strong links with his native village.

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The Lives We Lead Betty Fawcett After a sunny, warm weekend, it came as a shock to go out on Monday morning in the rain to hear and write the memories of our church gardener but it was a visit I enjoyed when I went to see Les Barrell.

In our dear Lord’s garden, planted here below, Many tiny flowerets in sweet beauty grow.

I sat down in the chair, my eyes were drawn to Les and Kath’s fireplace; well the mantelpiece really, for there is something on it which always intrigues me, a set of brass weights which came from their butcher’s shop. Les folded up his Daily Mirror and made us a cup of tea whilst I got out my little red book and pen.

Les was one of seven children born to George and Violet Ann Barrell; he had three brothers and three sisters. He was born in Norwich and was only five years old when the family moved to Royston. He went back there some time ago but it had changed from the memories he gathered listening to his mother describe it. Where their house used to be, there was now a new estate of rather posh houses and the river opposite had lots of barges and other smaller boats on it. They came to live in Royston because Les’s dad had the job of crossing keeper on Lee Lane, where they lived in a small house in one of the fields. How his mum ever managed he didn’t know but she was a hard working lady and always put her family first.

Les can vaguely remember her taking him to the church school but there were no places there so he went to the school on Midland Road where the doctor’s surgery, chemist and new houses are now. His favourite school lesson was English, especially spelling and writing. “I was just a medium scholar but I had some very good teachers who we respected in those days. They certainly left their mark on me. I feel quite sad the way education seems to be going today”, with which I wholeheartedly agreed. After leaving school he became a butcher’s boy at two shops in Royston - Bob Harwood’s and 223

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Eastman’s. Then he went to one in Staincross doing butchery and farming where he stayed until the end of 1941. That was when he was called up for the R.A.F. He went to Padgate in Lancashire, then Blackpool for drill or square bashing and then on to Cardington in Bedfordshire (just a few miles from where I used to live). I asked Les if he enjoyed his time in the R.A.F. and he replied, “I spent four and a half years there and I had some good times and some not so good but I had to do my time like thousands of other lads, until we were demobbed.

It’s funny, a little while ago one of the lads I was with gave me the number of our flight sergeant who lived in Sheffield. I came across a photo of us all which I had enlarged and gave him; he was so pleased. It’s nice to hear from old friends after a number of years isn’t it?” After leaving the R.A.F., he went back to butchery and farming and got a job at Parks’ butchers in Royston where he eventually worked for forty years. It was there he met Kath, who later became his wife. On their first date they went to a dance in Wakefield, Les went along with six more lads, Denis Brook included. Kath really loved dancing but Les was not so keen but of course he went along. They were married in 1949 at St. John’s Church and Roy Fensome was his best man. The wedding reception was held in St. Matthew’s Hall and after it was over Kath, Les and Roy were left to clear away and lock up. Then they went to Kath’s mum’s but there were so many folk there, they couldn’t get in. Les laughed and said, “What a night it was, with all those folk ..... but you haven’t heard the rest of it. Our honeymoon was a day in Leeds. It poured with rain all day so we went to the cinema and as the usherette showed us to our seats, Laurence Olivier was on screen saying ‘To be or not to be’ and we both laughed out loud, much to the annoyance of the other people in the cinema.” When they got home, there was a note on the door telling Les to report back to work as Mr Parks (Kath’s step dad) was ill, so their honey moon was over.

Their first child Allan was born in 1951 but in 1952 he passed away, it was a very sad time for them. Happily, they later had two daughters Lesley and Sandra, who they think the world of.

Lesley went to Ripon College and became a teacher and she is married to Peter, a retired headmaster. Kath and Les have enjoyed many a short break with them, they are very good to 224

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them, especially since Kath has been poorly, which Les has appreciated. Sandra went into the Travel Agency business when she left school but became a full time mother when she married Malc and consequently Les and Kath have four grandchildren. Les said wryly, “They certainly keep us on our toes, we have a lovely family, two good daughters, two good sons-in-law and our grandchildren.”

Bridlington was the place Les and Kath went most of the time when they had holidays, for as Les pointed out, they could not go too far because of their business at the butcher’s shop, which they had after Mr Parks passed away. “That is also why I never had many hobbies, for after working I was always glad to rest.” He likes music, the old sort though, not this boomboom of today, “it makes you wonder what these youngsters ears will be like in a few more years.”

Les is the kind of person who is always willing to give people a helping hand. He is a Royston visitor through the Partnership scheme and also visits folks in hospital and care homes. He helps at St John’s church especially with their May Day fetes; you will always see him on duty at the gate. Many a time he is seen cutting folk’s hedges, indeed he always used to cut our late dear friend Hilda Wright’s and as I wrote at the beginning of this article, he is our church gardener. He told me he gets great pleasure from caring for it. We bless and thank you for that, Les. He is a British Legion member who gets great pleasure and pride from selling poppies, an ex R.A.F. member and charity worker. Both he and Kath have friends in abundance and two very special friends, Ann Millar and Ann Beck two nursing sisters, are very highly thought of. They are Godmothers to Lesley and Sandra.

I asked Les, if he could be granted a wish and if he could go anywhere, what would his answer be and he said, “I have always been happy here in Royston, so at my age I’m content to stay put. My wish would be that Kath could enjoy better health; sadly that, at the present time, is not to be. Maybe in the future a cure could be found, in the meantime, I thank God that I am able to care for her, we have had a great life together.” He ended by telling me that his favourite hymn was 225

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How Great thou art and I know there are many folk around who say that about Les today. Many thanks Les, for sharing your memories with me and for being a good friend.

After Margaret Tinker read the article she contacted Betty Fawcett and Mr Barrell for permission to include the article in this book, permission was granted and she received the following letter from Mr Barrell: Dear Margaret, Further to the report in the Methodist magazine.

There was of course, at our house at Lee Lane Crossing, no running water. There was an old pump on an old stone sink which did work sometimes. Our drinking water was delivered in two milk cans each day on an engine on its way to Staincross, or beyond.

Later on, the train would stop on its way back and pick two empty cans up for the next day. For wash day we took our big tin bath out to the engine and would put it under the footplate somewhere and one of the crew would release some hot water and so we would then carry it back to the house ready for whatever. We took our bath time in the kitchen trying to make sure no one then came in. But we were all kept clean.

The toilet was up the garden, and when the bucket was full, as far as I can remember we took turns to dig a hole and bury it.

Very often, if the engine driver or fireman felt like it, they would throw us a few lumps of coal off the engine. (Bernard (Tinker) will remember those lumps, and releasing the water for our bath, from his steam days.)

There was a well up the yard but it had two very large slabs over the top, so as far as I know it was never looked into.

Yours, Les G Barrell

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All Our Yesterdays Ian Harley Barnsley Chronicle Friday February 4, 1994 ROBERT Atkinson now lives at 23 Knole Road, Billingham, Cleveland, but still has fond memories of his childhood ‘yesterdays’ spent at Applehaigh Farm Cottage, Notton. “That humble stone cottage was home for the first nine years of my life from 1925 to 1934,” he writes. “In those days, the toilet was a crude affair set some yards from the cottage; lights were candles and oil lamps, and heating and cooking were provided by an old range. “We had the village green to play on plus the centuries-old pinfold, a building without a roof and used to pen stray cattle and sheep until the owner collected them.

“My elder sister, Mary, and I attended the National School opposite the church in Royston. Hot school meals were then a million light years away so we ate a packed lunch under the watchful eye of a teacher together with a cup of cocoa, an Oxo cube drink or home-made pop.

“Poverty was evident then. Many of my school-friends had fathers who were out of work. My father received a modest £2 a week for 60 hours’ work but at least we had money coming in.

“The photograph was taken in early November 1931 and I am sat cross-legged, third from the left on the front row. I can still recall many of the names. George Cutts was my special friend but other friends were Johnnie Fairhurst, Reuben Faulkner, James Fox, Bunty Brownbridge, Audrey Fox, Nancy Davenport, Betty Woodward to name but a few. I do not recall any fights, bullying, envy or jealousy. If a friend had a few sweets or an apple or orange, he shared it and you did the same.

“Royston provided so many ‘firsts’ in my life. The first time I heard radio was through headphones at the home of the Barkers, friends of my parents. My first ride in a motorised vehicle was in Mr. Bealby’s milk van and the only time I have 227

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ever seen a bullock roasted over an open fire was in the park up Midland Road on a Saturday evening. If any of your readers could confirm the date, time and venue of this event, I would be delighted to hear from them. I also remember in very early childhood being carried on my father’s shoulders up Midland Road when the road and pavements were jampacked with people. I know little of the event but it may have coincided with the arrival of Talkies at the cinema in Midland Road.

“Mary and I always got a Saturday penny which we invariably spent at Mrs. Wray’s wooden-hut sweet shop across the road from my grandmother’s, Granny Young. It was there too in the spring where we bought our whip and top.

“The Wells was alive with children. The girls skipped and played hopscotch, the boys played marbles or had ‘boolers’ (hoops) or ‘codjys’. The codjy was my pride and joy. Basic ingredients were pram wheels complete with axles, a Tate and Lyle sugar box, two shafts plus an enterprising father and you had your box cart, barrow, codjy or whatever. Each Saturday saw me and my codjy go three times to the coke yard for my Granny. After that, it was my errand to go to the fish and chip shop with an old white 6d and two old pence clutched in my hand for fish and chips four times for Granny, Grandad, Great Grandad with Mary and I sharing the fourth. They were fish and chips then, cooked on a coal fire in pure beef dripping.

“There were two doctors, Henderson and Pare, in Royston at that time. Our doctor, Dr. Henderson, visited our home on a big white horse. I often wonder how or if Dr. Henderson ever got paid. I am sure Mam’s budget would not run to paying a doctor.

“There were two midwives then - Nurse Healey and Nurse Lyth.

“Sundays saw me attend Sunday School at the chapel in High Street. As I grew older, I went to evening service with my Granny.

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“After chapel we went back to Granny’s and played records on their wind-up gramophone until Dad and Mum came for me.

“Despite my tender years, I can recall the chapel anniversary when we all said our recitations, the Sunday School party we always had in the chapel and the Whitsuntide procession of decorated carts and cycles etc. through Royston.

“Since those wonderful innocent days of my childhood in Notton and Royston, I have travelled many roads, visited many countries and met many people - not a bad record for a working lad, now retired but possessing some treasured memories.”

(Reproduced with permisssion of the Barnsley Chronicle).

Additions to the Chronicle feature written in a letter to Mary Fox. Mam brought eleven children into the world. Twin girls died as babies in about 1923. Albert, a lovely boy of two years old, died of cancer of the neck in about 1928. They are all three resting in peace in Royston cemetery. In 1937 Mam lost another baby, Elaine, only a few days old. The remaining seven all reached adulthood.

We left Notton as a family in July 1934. The reason for this being that Mr. John Hammerton, the farmer that dad worked for at Applehaigh Farm, hit financial troubles resulting in him giving up Applehaigh and taking a much smaller farm in Notton village where Dad’s services were not required. Dad then got out his old bike, he could not of course afford bus or train fares, and cycled countless miles looking for work as an agricultural labourer.

He eventually got a job at a farm some forty miles north of Notton in a tiny hamlet called Cattal between York and Harrogate. * * *

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I was sorry to hear of the passing of Jimmy and Audrey Fox. Their mother and my mother were bosom friends. I visited their home with her many times. We went up High Street, turned left a distance after the chapel and headed down towards Carlton (i.e. The Green) - a lane of sorts in those days. We turned left into a yard, perhaps the middle house two up and two down. Mam has left me there to sleep on more than one occasion. Jimmy, Audrey and I have slept in one bed as tiny children - happy days. * * * When we left Notton, although still a very happy childhood, life for me seemed to take on a new dimension. We had two and a half miles to walk to the village school, only three classrooms to cater for all the children from five to fourteen years old: five, six and seven year olds in one room; eight, nine and tens in another; eleven, twelve and thirteens in the third - maybe fifty five to sixty pupils in total. I found the work harder to cope with and the discipline much stricter. I have only one lasting sadness of those years and one criticism of my late parents - I never sat the County Minor Scholarship at ten years old in 1935. It was many years later that Mam confided in me that Mr Smith the then headmaster had cycled the two and a half miles to inform my parents that I was eligible to sit the scholarship and to use his expression “I should walk it�. Dad adamantly refused, saying he wanted me out at work at fourteen not stuck in some classroom learning a lot of useless rubbish. He said he could not afford to keep me at school until I was sixteen (grammar school leaving age). In my first year at work, as errand boy, I earned seven shillings and sixpence a week; the second year I think was nine shillings a week - a total in earnings over the two years of say forty pounds. It has always seemed to me that my future was blighted for the sake of that forty pounds.

1941 time saw my sister Mary working and living in Leeds.

She met up with a Jack Atkinson at a dance or something.

They got married and Mary almost went back to her roots for Jack lived at Grimethorpe!

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But Royston and Notton were my childhood: Applehaigh Farm, Bluebell Wood, Notton village, Woolley Dam and adventuring around Royston; plus all the people who were part of that happy childhood: Great-grandad Rhodes, Grannie and Grandad Young and all the people Mam and Dad knew at that time in Royston and Notton.

(Sadly, Robert died very suddenly in May 1998).

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The Whincover Royston.

It’s Origins.

Albert Walker Harry Vincent the present owner and resident of Whincover House has researched the origin of the name Whincover. I met him recently at the Anglers Retreat at Wintersett and he came up with some valuable and interesting information.

He found that whin is the name of a type of gorse bush and cover is still in common use as a place for foxes to live or take refuge (as is fox covert). So the landed gentry and fox hunting fraternity of the area, actually created these covers in strategic places all around their properties in order to increase the ease of finding foxes on hunt days when they were entertaining their sporting friends.

Before the expansion of the coal industry and even before the building of the canal in the late1700’s, the area was peppered with fox covers of various kinds by landowners such as the Pilkingtons of Chevet Hall and, in the cases of our Whincover, the Moncktons of Hodroyd Hall, Felkirk.

In this way they were attempting to almost domesticate the fox, so that if one cover did not produce a fox when the hounds were put in, they could ride on to the next and so on.

It would appear that once the Barnsley Canal was built (in which they had shares ), and passing through their land, The Moncktons were quick to capitalise and encouraged the building of The Old Ship Inn, stables for the barge horses, and a dozen or more houses on the site of their old whincover.

Thus the name Whincover carried on being used as an address for the created hamlet.

In the late 1870’s, with the sinking of the New Monckton 1&2 Collieries up the hillside to the east of Whincover, the value of the site increased dramatically. The coal was drawn straight out of the pit and tipped, virtually directly into the barges waiting in the purpose built Whincover Basin below. The remains of this chute were still in evidence into the 1950’s.

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With the arrival of the Railways began the very slow decline of the canal as coal and freight were inevitably transferred to wagons. The last barge passed through Whincover in about1953. Long before then however, the Ship Inn had closed, to be replaced by the present Ship Hotel near the Midland Road Bridge. Most of the houses and the stables fell into dereliction with only Whincover House now remaining.

As kids on Cross Lane in the 1940’s and 50’s, we played on and in the remains around the Whincover Basin. The basin itself was still very much intact at that time and was used as a swimming pool by the older ones as people had done for decades before. The old wooden towpath swing bridge was also still in use and we used to swing it open with a dozen or so kids on it; quite a white knuckle ride when you are only five years old.

Thanks to Harry Vincent for the historical information and bringing to mind some of my childhood memories.

November 2003

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16 Station Road, Tyhill, Margaret Coggin’s family.

Once Frank Evisons back yard.

VE Day party on High Street. (Notice the air raid shelters).

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Robin Hood Place as it was in the late 70’s.

Looking along Midland Road and the top of Godley Street from Robin Hood Place.

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Midland Road approximately 1965

The Ship Inn at the end of Midland Road

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Royston Cycling Club 1965.

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Working on Steam Engines at Royston.

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Brenda Johnson at the COOP on Midland Road, in the early 1950’s.

Ken Ellis at the COOP on Midland Road, in the early 1950’s.

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Frank Evison on the right at Monkton, number 3 boilers in 1939.

The Canal Bridge on Midland Road, which was replaced by the Griffiths Bridge.

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Godley Street.

Thelma Roebuck (now Street) her brother Arthur with Arthur Whittington.

Godley Street, Coronation Party 1953 in the Council School Hall.

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“Sally Wright’s” Sweet Shop.

Picture of the COOP at the Wells, which was originally Yardley’s Shop

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Balls Row.

Mr Haigh the Chemist on Wells corner with a jar from Mr Pickering who was the first chemist in the shop.

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Mr Haigh the Chemist on Wells corner with staff Joan Robinson nee Edwards and Edna Eales nee Parrott.

Early Home Guard Parade, Reg Thompson is in the centre.

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This book is a collection of memories and reminiscences based on life in Royston and neighbouring villages during the early part of the 20th Century and gives an insight into the development of the village and the everyday lives of the people there.

ÂŁ7.50 The Workers' Educational Association (WEA) is a charity registered in England and Wales (number 1112775) and in Scotland (number SC039239) and a company limited by guarantee registered in England and Wales (number 2806910).