Howden Le Wear
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Shops
Bryant's Post Office with Mrs Robson, a Queen Motherish figure always dressed in a black two piece, dishing out pensions, stamps and postal orders from the aloof position behind her cage. Duggie Bain's cobblers, the warm oily smell, my first football boots were bought there for 13/6d. The proprietor ever smiling, with his gold rimmed glasses, shiny bald head, gammy leg and leather apron, he could have been Pinnochio's dad Gepetto himself. Harry Waggot's, as wide a range of foods as Morrisons, but served with courtesy, a smile and a joke for the kids. Next door was Peggy's wool shop, but a young lad would not be seen dead in there! Gibsons, substitute Joyce and Mark for Gladys and Bill, treble the 'dying trade', but otherwise things are very much as they were, indeed, as they should be! Finlay and Wilks, two pumps on the footpath, an endless barrel of paraffin, batteries, light bulbs, puncture repair kits and sticks. Just shows what can be achieved with hard work and enterprise. The Fish Shop. When a fish and threepennorth went through the 1/- barrier it heralded the onset of inflation. Still, you could get a free poke of chips for a bundle of newspapers, and the Pepsi was the real thing! Bell's Bakery, a true artist at work in his tin shed, out the back, creating a morning aroma that will never be reproduced. Like Duggie Bains, Jackie Bell seemed permanently attached to his pinny, whether making or selling his bread, ginger biscuits, vanilla slices and cream horns. There were of course thirteen of these items to the dozen. All these delights, however, paled into insignificance compared to the man's unique pasties. These were probably my first addiction, and by the age of 19 I was eating between 16 and 22 a week. (By then I was also besotted by the baker's daughter's tight sweaters, but then, weren't we all? But that's a different story.) The Barbers. My main recollections were Jack's love of the Two Blues (the team, not the Pub), and the day boys haircuts went up from 6d to 9d. You can't buy a comb for that now. Jessies. I suppose a slightly up market version of Peggy's, but if a little lad plucked up courage at Christmas he could probably find a nice present for Mam for around 2/11d. Mary Jane's. The Newsagents, owned by a North Eastern, Woodbine smoking version of Granny Clampett. She sold everything from dolls eyes to buttons, most of which seemed to be kept in shoe boxes on her stairs. The Store. Arkwrights but slightly bigger, and with a divi, and Harold Coles singing 'Abide with Me' while he sliced the bacon. Last edited: 18/07/2007 10:36 by David Quinn |
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Play
I know records will prove me wrong, but summer seemed to start around the beginning of May and last until getting on to Bonfire night. We walked to Witton-le-Wear night after night to swim then walked home or, if we were lucky, got a lift in an empty meat van, not unlike the one driven by Corporal Jones in 'Dads Army'. When it got too cold to swim we set about building and guarding our bonfire in the park. There were few organised displays in those days but there was tremendous rivalry between Bitchburn, High Grange, Valley Terrace, Victoria, 'Them up the New Buildings', and us. We invariably won, but to be fair we were well in with Dougie Wilks for a few tyres, and we enlisted the aid of a few 16-17 year olds, who in those days were not men but still big boys. We also had all of the park to ga at for dead trees and branches, not to mention a few live ones! The patch on the old tennis courts where the fire had been was barely cold when the first snows fell and we had the sledge out. They must have been very long years for we seemed to sledge as many nights as we swam and still find time for conkering, brambling, playing 'pop-alleys', playing over the heaps, doing dickusses (I think that's how it's spelt!), playing blocky, kick the tin, chickmelly, tally ho and three goals go in. I guess a year must have been about 16 months. Last edited: 18/07/2007 10:39 by David Quinn |
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School
Vague recollections of my first days, being taken in my little blue coat and cap by the girls next door. I seemed to cling to them for ages. (Was this a sign of things to come?) Finally graduated to playing with the boys, sliding in the school yard in black boots with 'segs' in. It was all boys because the yard then was divided by a wall and the red brick toilets and you just didn't venture into the girl's half. What is now the school field was still 'Carter's' field, where Alf kept his pigs. I suppose most of my generation will have roughly the same memories of the school, such as the huge thermometer on the wall, dinners in the W.I., sitting on the pipes in the winter, 'Tommy's Pantry', and maybe the old oak desks with wooden pens and ink-wells. Surely though, the most lasting impression must be of a certain Miss Elizabeth Heslop. 'Lizzie', with her imposing figure, grey moustache, specs stuck on the top of her head and her booming voice, could strike terror into the hearts of your Mam and Dad, while the mere mention of Long Tom or Little Willie was enough to make any seven year old wet himself! This woman would have had most present day teachers for breakfast, while a confrontation between her and Margaret Thatcher would have been no contest. However I remember her with great warmth and respect, and I am convinced that if every school had one or two 'Lizzie's' we would now be living in a much more civilised society. A couple of years on and it was nature walks with Gladys Gardiner or 'Polly' as she was known. In common with David Bellamy she lived at Hamsterley, but that was the only similarity. Polly also took us for aerobics, or as she liked to call it, Drill. She had nothing in common with Diana Moran. On to the top class, and although we must have been given great tuition for so many of us to do well in the eleven-plus, all I can really remember Jimmy Savage teaching us was sport. We called him 'Cromwell' for his apparent sternness and discipline, but on reflection his enthusiasm and commitment to making a football team out of resources so limited that even I was an automatic choice, must have rivalled that of Brian Clough. His efforts were justly rewarded, and I'll never forget how proud he was to present us with our medals for winning the Bishop Auckland District League. We were not to know that within ten years Mr. Savage would be taken, robbing the school of a fine teacher at a tragically young age. Last edited: 12/07/2007 14:21 by David Quinn |
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Village Characters
Mr Joe (Cloggy) Jackson Almost everyone who met 'Cloggy' has stories to recollect of this colourful village character - Dave Quinn recalls: Mr Joe 'Cloggy' Jackson, Club Doorman and Saturday Evening vendor of 'The Pink', AKA Sunderland Echo. Invariably dressed in flat cap and tight fitting jacket, riding breeches and leather boots, Cloggy looked every inch a 'horsey man'. He claimed that as a lad he had been bed-mates with champion jockey Manny Mercer. This was extremely doubtful as Cloggy was not so much economical with the truth, but rather he embellished it. The classic case occurred one hot Sunday morning when Cloggy was sitting shirt sleeved and barefoot by the well along Witton Road. A by-passer remarked upon Cloggy's weary and overheated state and was answered in no uncertain terms. 'Thou'd be hot if the'd just warked back from Ireland.' Being something of a romancer Cloggy was also rather gullible. The most famous example of this being the Friday evening phone call to the Club requesting that Mr Jackson arrange a stall on the Market Place (in front of Cassy's shop) to take delivery of 30cwt of tripe on Saturday morning. The stall was duly erected and a 'horsey type' man in a borrowed butcher's apron was in attendance. The tripe never arrived. This beggars two questions: Which committee man made the phone call? and, Was it Irish tripe? Last edited: 18/07/2007 10:59 by David Quinn |
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