T.S.Lowry could have portrayed the view from 56 Beverley Road, Bolton, where I made an entrance onto the world scene in 1926. This spot, ( not then on Google Earth,) was visually dominated by multi storey mills and chimneys, - 27 of which could be counted from one bedroom, belching, besmirching, black smoke; raining down soot; fouling the air, the washing, and white, wrapped, wee babies.
Bolton was a textile town featuring rows of terraced houses mainly for cotton workers spinning in the so called “Satanic Mills,” - like great cotton cathedrals, - architectural monstrosities.
One such mill was the Musgrove nearby, surrounded by a high wooden fence, housing a reservoir of heated water, cooling from the cotton spinning steam engines driving the looms. Rumour had it that anyone entering this water would not survive alive. There was no record of anyone brave enough to test the theory, but small boys were sorely tempted.
Outside this fence was an area of black cinders used by lads to play football & cricket and scrape their knees red.
The clogged workers, some girls as young as 16, ( including my mother in early years) clacking their clogs on their urgent way t’mill gates ‘fore they clanged closed if - one minute late.
They were awakened by the Knocker who would tap the windows with a wired top pole each morning.
In the dark evenings the street gas lighter came round to light the gas lamps with a wick on a pole and later put them out by pulling a lever.
The streets were cobbled with tarred joints. The narrow, back alleys were separated from the flag stoned yards by high walls housing outdoor, long drop lavs usually, and most usefully enhanced with nailed up papers of the Bolton Evening News, printed by Tillotsons (for whom my Dad was a jobbing compositor.) These papers were also used for holding the fish and chips, though not at the same time.
These wall tops were also used to keep wood for Bonfires on the 5th November.
Our flagged backyard led to the scullery which housed the air cooled pantry, the sink, the wringer, the tin bath.
The heating was by coal, backed by a ‘Baxi’ boiler, lit rolled up paper, split firewood and raked out by poker each morning and chimney swept sometimes by, supervised, young small boys.
Horse and carts regularly rattled down the street carrying sacks of coal, firewood, rag & bone merchants, and knife sharpening tools.
The main thoroughfare running along the bottom of these parallel streets were tram lines which in the smoggy weather had their tram conductors walking in front of the tram with lanterns held aloft, going in and out of town.
This main street was also used by boys to dare to run across as late as possible to avoid being knocked down by the few cars that came along.
In and around Beverley Road, - street football, cricket, marbles in the gutter, kick out the ball, hide and seek etc. were played regularly and often chased by on the beat ‘coppers’ dealing with complaining householders.
The main memories from this time however, are of the extended, close knit family of 3 generations:-
The matriarch was Grandma Martha Baxendale who with Aunties Anne, Theresa lived in 25 Beverley Road. Aunty Mary & Uncle Ted, Aunty Lily & Uncle Jack, were in nearby roads. Aunty Edith, and Uncle Billy, Uncle Tom & Aunty Kitty, Auntie Agnes & Uncle Arthur, Auntie Gertrude all lived in Bolton; Uncle Bernard joined later from Beverley.
Family Christmas & New Year parties with Dad and Uncle Tom organizing the games were lots of fun with cousins Mary &, Margaret. Similar parties were held with Mum’s side.
Other memories were:-
The enjoyment of going to the adult parish dances.
Mum & Dad’s involvement in the St. Edmund’s Amateur Operatic and Dramatic Society. They put on light opera like The Mikado and Plays like Charley’s Aunt from 1934 on. Mum had a good natural harmonizing contralto voice and sang in the chorus. Dad acted regularly for many years in different Societies and later directed plays in Yeovil. I sold programs at each performance at St. Edmunds.
Had my hair cut by Uncle Arthur.
Had my teeth out by Uncle Billy.
Had pictures painted in my album by Uncle Tom.
Served in Aunty Lily’s sweet shop.
Sat on one of 4 chairs made by Uncle Ted a professional Cabinet Maker.
Listened to Uncle Jack playing the violin and singing.
Listened to cousin Marjory and cousin Bernard sing songs round the piano played by Marjory.
Walking to 8am Mass on Sundays in collar and tie, before breakfast, and often feinting during the Mass. Later acting as an Altar boy and having to learn the Latin responses. The comments about me looking angelic in cassock and cotta belied the innate tendency to collect a catalogue of misdemeanours.
The annual religious processions in May and Trinity Sunday in the town by all parishes finishing in the Town Square. Walking with family and cousins to Astley Bridge on Good Friday.
Once a year visit to Blackpool by train during “Wakes Week” (Many Mill towns in Lancashire had a 12 day holiday.) I genuinely believed that Blackpool was geographically at the end of the earth and saw it’s ‘Illuminations’ ( before we fell off!)
Many of us were also avid cigarette card collectors pestering fag smokers with -“Please Mister, have you got any cigarette cards?” and trying to complete an album by doing swops (some of which I still have.).
Smoking tea in a clay pipe and woodbine fags at 5 for 2p at the age of 7 in the back streets.
Colour photography would have been useful to catch my green face for the latter, and the red face for the next item.
I was caught smoking in the bedroom by Mum & Dad. (misdemeanor)
A few of us went to Westhoughton coal mine to ride on the pyramid shaped, slag heaps on borrowed bicycles.
A few ‘dying of thirst’ nights spent in Bolton General Infirmary having tonsils and adenoids removed.
Going to Burnden Park Football matches in the Boys pen to watch Bolton Wanderers.
On one occasion I went to watch a match unknown to my father, and got in under the turnstiles of the ‘posh’ enclosure alongside the pitch. I could see Dad in the standing area behind the goal. (The crowd numbered over 50,000.)
I climbed over the barbed wire dividing fence and made my way through the spectators and eventually stood next to a very surprised Dad.
Went often to evening cricket matches at Heaton, Bolton with Dad.
Also swimming with Dad at Bolton Baths, after he finished work.
Sneaking by the arched entrance to Halliwell lodge, - a sort of drinking bar. Tying cotton across the archway exit at a height calculated to knock the trilby hats off emerging inebriated men. (misdemeanor.)
Listening to a radio Hilversum on sets charged by a lead acid battery. Experimenting also with Chrystal /Cats whisker radio signals..
Sliding and attempting ice skating on Rivington reservoir, Horwich. Some fell through the thin ice. Climbing up Rivington Pike overlooking distant Bolton Town covered in smoke, fog or smog with cousin Bernard.. Getting lost in the fog when trying to cross Winter Hill and Belmont Moor with cousin Bernard. Scaring the Grouse and trying unsuccessfully to shoot them with catapults.
Three flagstones were later dug up in our back yard and some Nasturtium seeds sown and grew into plants and flowers, which attracted butterflies which laid eggs, which became caterpillars which formed a chrysalis, which turned into a cocoon which I placed in a match box and in the spring opened up and emerged into a butterfly and flew away, much to my delight and curiosity.