Tales from the past!

[Pipeman]

I bumped into this short piece which I wrote in 2006. You might like it - I hope so!:)

http://www.photodump.freeuk.com/fiftyyearsago.htm

If you want an easy-to-read version, go on the print preview. - Shaun

[Marvin]

Excellent Ron, so now we know.

You have Mr Seymour to thank for your love of cricket, and probably the pipe too!

He must have had a camera as well...!

[miffy]

I know nothing about cricket, Ron, but your love for the game comes over so well in that eloquently written piece!! You are a very good writer, holding the reader's interest with touches of humour & anticipation ! I presume that was an important moment in cricket history???? Glad you got to see it!!:) One of those childhood memories that never leave you !!
I think we should have a "short story" thread on TOG--what do you think, Ron??

xxjan

[Sarah]

Nice story Ron, but I really dont understand what was so special about it :confused: but then I am one that avoids cricket cuz i havent got the foggiest with regards it

[flook]

tch women

Lakers endeavours were (are) nothing short of miraculous

Nice story well written Ron, never saw that ending coming :D

[Shaun]

:top: :top:

[Pipeman]

I think we should have a "short story" thread on TOG--what do you think, Ron??

xxjan

Good idea Janet - I have something floating around in my head at the moment and will happily contribute from time to time.

[Snaphappy]

Not much of a sporty person, but remember the names.
But really enjoyed reading the story, thank you. :top:

[cindy]

Forget the cricket ....I love this Ron because it is a moment in time, it captures your likes, your thoughts, a little insight into your life at the time and your personality let alone gives an historical account of prices, the culture at the time etc . I would love to see a thread that does just that - capture a page from a persons journal, diary, memorable moments so that everyone can join in (Janet,Harold, Scottie? for starters) , and share them.

[miffy]

I'm up for that!!!!!:D

xxjan

[cindy]

great so whoever can dig out something first can start a new thread ....not sure what it can BE called :confuse:
A moment in time?
Serendipity?
er vintage thoughts lol ...any suggestions?

[miffy]

When i was 10, i used to go to the local Co-op hall on saturday mornings for ballet, tap & acrobatics lessons. It cost 2/6, which was a lot of money in those days, but bless my mum, she always found it ! I LOVED it, & every now & then we'd put on shows in local parks & at the Midland Institute in Birmingham-- i remember being in awe (even though i didn't know what the word meant then!),at it being like a REAL theatre, with a stage & everything!!! I was going to be the next Margot Fonteyn or Alicia Markover, & spend my life dazzling the world as i spun across the world as the Sugarplum Fairy!!But all that was in the future!!
For now, it was the Co-op hall on saturday mornings!!I could bend over backwards & walk like a crab---balance on my forearms & kick my legs over my head to pick a hanky off the floor with my toes-- & do the splits---all feats that i used to show off with in the school playground, with my dress tucked in my knicker legs!!!! I could stand on my points & pirhouette, in the most beautiful pink satin ballet shoes- my most treasured possession!! I could have shown Bruce Forsyth a thing or two about tap-dancing, as we did our routines to all the songs from the musicals. My favourite was the can-can----Oh those gorgeous satin skirts with all their frills being flourished about before the final jump in the air to land in the splits!!!
Never mind Diversity---this was REAL dancing!!
My mum used to meet me afterwards, & we'd go into the Co-op & buy a pound of broken biscuits. Anyone remember the way that biscuits were sold loose from big square metal tins & the broken ones used to be sold cheaper?? We didn't care, they still tasted lovely!! & afterwards, while she went to buy the veggies for sunday lunch, i used to go round to the side of the shop to collect some of the cabbage leaves that the greengrocer had pulled off the outside of the cabbages & put in a box for people to help themselves to--for my rabbit.
You don't get that in Sainsburys!!
I never made it to prima ballerina status--i wasn't tall enough & we weren't rich enough for proper ballet school lessons, but to this day, whenever i tear the outside leaves off a cabbage, i'm taken back in time to those wonderful saturday mornings at the Co-op hall!!!
Now then, I wonder if i can do a cartwheel on crutches??????:rofl::rofl:

xxjan

[miffy]

Ok, i've started it off---"Tales from the Past".Go & add your own tales--they don't have to be as old as Ron's & mine!!!!!! :rofl: We'll still enjoy reading them!!

xxjan

[cindy]

LOL Jan this is lovely, And well done to getting this thread started. You see I know even more now that you and I have something(s) in common. I use to go to ballet and acrobatic classes and had dreams of being Anna Pavlova... before I chose art as a direction (\ had to give up me ballet as couldnt afford both) and then fancied myself as the next most misunderstood and unappreciated artist - Van Gogh. Wierd fantasy I know but that was then. I will search the cobwebs of my memories to see what I can dig up!

[miffy]

Fantastic Cindy, can't wait!!!!!:) I'll practice the cartwheels--maybe we could put on a TOG's GOT TALENT show!!!!!!!:D

xxjan

[Pipeman]

Lovely story Janet - my sort of tale!

Don't go away. I am off to look for something I wrote!

[Pipeman]

Mi Booits

Schooldays were happy days as I remember, but whichever side of the grass you were on, it always seemed a bit greener on the other side! And so it was at my school – there were the posh kids, and us!

The parents of the posh kids voted Conservative, the other 99% of the school population voted Labour, and the posh kids hated elections because they got bashed about.

But the posh kids had things:

They had pencil boxes with sliding lids, and contained long pencils. and which swivelled to show another compartment below with rubbers and things in. We had old date boxes with pencils about two inches long.

They had glass marbles bought from a shop – we had ball bearings that somebody’s dad brought from the pit or an engineering factory.

They had pullovers without holes in them, we didn’t.

They had underpants.

On the other side, they had shoes, we had BOOTS!

We wouldn’t have swapped our boots for their shoes any day! They had studs all over the soles with a metal bit at the end, and there was an enormous horseshoe shaped piece around the heel. It was great going to school and making sparks on the causeway as you went along by just dragging your feet, or kicking the backs of your heels. Not much good on tarmac playgrounds but fabulous on stone. And it was better playing football in boots because they were strong and the ball went a long way. Nobody tried to bully you if you had new boots on. But they were heavy!

Remember?

What do you remember about your schooldays and the things that other kids had?

[miffy]

That was a lovely read, Ron!!:) When did you get your first pair of "shoes"?? Was it when you went to work??

I'm gonna like this thread!!!:D

I remember we used to be given little books at sunday school--they were only about 2" square,& they were filled with pictures of babies & children, & we used to sell the pictures at school for 1 penny each to raise money for poor children in other countries! Did anyone else do this?????:confused:

xxjan

[cindy]

Good memories Ron.

Just a quickie but I remember nicking a shilling from a school collection jar. I didn't think anything of it at the time until my mum started interrogating my sister over mysterious chocolate bars and sweets that would appear. I was listening to my sister denying all charges of stealing but felt so guilty I ran crying into my sisters room apologising profusely for nicking the shilling..much to both my mum and sisters surprise. This then prompted a confession from my sister about nicking chocolate and all was eventually sorted!

Another school secret, Me and two friends, aged 11 set up the wot not club and would sit in the cornfield at the end of the garden and read out home made poems to each other! My sister fancied herself as a sort of skinhead ( into 2- tone jackets and reggae music) and would take the pee out of us calling us 'hairies' and 'wallies' ...remember those expressions? I later became an art student and resorted to wearing an afghan coat that smelt of camels pee and cheese cloth shirts. The coat later ended up as an armchair cover at a friends house!!

[Pipeman]

Nice one Cindy - we all have our little chidhood guilty secrets - can see some right tales coming through.

Janet mentioned Sunday School - tales to come later, I have loads!

Shoes? When I was in third year at Grammar school I think. Always wanted pumps like the other kids but Mam wouldn't let us wear them.
When I went to work at the Town Hall one lad there was still wearing short trousers as his family couldn't afford long ones!

[Pipeman]

I remember we used to be given little books at sunday school--they were only about 2" square,& they were filled with pictures of babies & children, & we used to sell the pictures at school for 1 penny each to raise money for poor children in other countries! Did anyone else do this?????:confused:

xxjan

Oh, Yes!

[Marvin]

Now you've done it Ron! :)

When something that good appears, I have to let Sylvia see it. Now I am not really a sports person myself but Sylvia is. She will take the radio into the garden and listen to the cricket, the one sport that I think radio was invented for. ;)

Believe it or not, she saw it too and remembers watching that event with her mother. She also had the advantage of being in Coventry, MUCH closer to the Sutton Coldfield transmitter with a (relatively) clear picture. :shocked:

We are still tuned to Sutton Coldfield today, here in the Midlands.

[Pipeman]

When I was little, really little I mean, I remember going to Sunday school in the next village in the chapel opposite my Grandma’s house.

You must understand that I come from a long line of big Methodist women. Not size wise, but still big Methodist women if you follow my meaning. Mam was a big chapel woman, as was her Mam and her grandma.

So on Sunday mornings I was wrapped up warm, given a small bag containing a fresh egg and a slice of bacon, and handed over to the milkman when he came with his pony and trap to deliver the milk from one of those big churns, out of which he measured milk into folks’ jugs.

We were lucky in that we never wanted much for food during the war – Dad always had something to swap for meat and such, and we had hens!

We lived at the end of our village and Grandma lived at the start of the next so I suppose it was logical for him to take me there, a ride of about a mile down the road.

Having been duly delivered, Grandma cooked my breakfast and then took me across the road to the chapel for Sunday School with about forty other children.

I was collected from the chapel by Grandma but for the life of me, I can’t remember how I got back home!

[Marvin]

Age Ron, does things to yer memory..:D

I remember when I was really little, I went to Sunday school with the girl from 2 doors away. I remember walking there but for the life of me, never remembered the walk home!

Then when I was a bit older, Mum told me that I would be going to REAL school. I must have liked Sunday school because I was happy with that news. But then she told me that it was EVERY day, not just Sundays! Suddenly I wasn't so happy...:cry:

[Pipeman]

There’s not much sea in Wakefield. We have the River Calder and the canal, but I don’t suppose that really counts.

As you might know, in my youth I used to stand on the market at Wakefield and had also learned the piano to quite a low standard, and so one day I gravitated to Mrs Margison’s music stall in the Victorian market hall.

It was a lovely building with gas lights, wrought ironwork, and atmosphere, but they knocked it down forty odd years ago and built a concrete block and called it the New Market Hall. That too was demolished a couple of years ago to make way for a new development, and Wakefield is now the proud owner of the biggest hole in Yorkshire as the new developer has succumbed to the recession and gone bust in mid project!

Anyway, being a Chapel lad I found an old book entitled “Sacred Hymns and Songs”, it cost seven shillings and sixpence which was quite a lot of money, but Mrs Margison put it by for me until I could afford it.

I took a lot of pleasure from that book. Mam loved hymn tunes although Dad was not a great fan, and we had many a sing song from it. You know the scene, front of the piano off so that you could see the hammers, play it loud and sod the neighbours!

We all had our favourites, Mam liked “What a friend we have in Jesus”, Dad liked to sing “Christians Awake” but Mam only allowed that in the week before Christmas!

But my favourite was “Eternal Father, strong to save, whose hand doth guide the restless wave..” and ended “..for those in peril on the sea.”

Now, I used to play the piano at Sunday School every Sunday morning, which entitled me to choose the hymns, and guess what? Most weeks we sang “Eternal Father….”,

even though there isn’t much sea in Wakefield!

[miffy]

Aww that's a lovely story, Ron ! I like Eternal Father too--especially when sung by a Welsh mail voice choir!!!

I can just picture your family around the old piano!!:) Now the families are all in their separate bedrooms,playing their hi-tech games & never sharing things that they will be able to recall in the future, like you have with your lovely stories!! Sad, isn't it??????:(

xxjan

[Pipeman]

Market Life

There is no truth that I was born on a market stall, but I certainly rested in a box underneath one whilst Mam worked the family stall!

So you will see that from a very young age I was a market man, learned from Dad how to haggle with the wholesalers, set up a stall (best stuff at the front, rubbish at the back), how to chop bad leaves off cabbages, skin boiled beetroot, and add up in me head! By the age of fourteen I was humping hundredweight bags of potatoes the two hundred yards from warehouse to stall!

It was fun, I earned my pocket money there at thrupence an hour (old money, not new) and saved it up to buy my first wrist watch from H Samuels. It replaced the old pocket watch which Dad had given me one Christmas when they were hard up. I didn’t appreciate it at the time but it must have broken his heart to give it up.

Summers were great, lots of people about browsing, and if you did your job right, buying as well. I had a reputation for having one of the loudest voices on the market – they knew about Lord’s tomatoes all over the market, but that’s before I smoked! I used to begin talking to people about our produce as they came around the corner and determined to sell them something before they passed our stall. I usually succeeded!

Winters were a bit different though. Bloody cold stood there in rain and snow, cardboard in your wellies to keep your feet warm, pots of tea from the kiosk on the corner every hour, and huddling around the brazier behind the stall trying to keep warm. The fire had to be lit well away from the stalls, and an onion was used to keep down the coke fumes. Two people had to carry it back to the stall with a pole slotted through two holes near the top. We used to have duck boards behind the stall so that we were not standing in water when it rained. In winter it was often very quiet – known as “dead” in the trade - and sometimes sales were less than the stall fees!

As much of the produce was our own it was essential to get as much to market as possible and we were often up before six picking mushrooms in the greenhouses before the lorry went at seven. Last minute collections of eggs were made for when I returned home late morning to take them in heavy iron buckets back to Wakefield on the bus, together with anything else that could be loaded onto an eleven year old! I used to get some strange looks from the bus conductors, but once sold a dozen eggs to a woman whilst on the bus – she knew they were fresh because they were still warm!

More market tales to come over the months.

[miffy]

Gizza bunch o' them nana's, lad!!!!!!! :D Aww you brought your childhood to life for me, Ron--i could picture it all!! A lovely tale, made all the better by your vivid painting of it for us!! Thank you, Mr veg man!!!;)

xxjan

[Pipeman]

We used to have a horse called Dolly.

Dolly was a big, big horse and pulled our cart around the local villages selling our own produce and sometimes bought in stuff as well.

School holidays were great as I could go out with the cart, as a helper, and sometimes hold the reins and make her run down the streets! Ken must have been mad to let me and I had to promise not to tell my Dad!

We used to stop off somewhere for our sandwiches and Dolly was given her nosebag full of bran or whatever, and then a bucket of water was begged from a customer so that she could drink, and could she drink!

On her days off, Dolly was tethered on the local common in the morning and Dad would go out with me to lead her back in the late afternoon. Sometimes I could ride on her back.

One day Dolly decided that she wanted to stay out and had pulled up the iron bar which tethered her to the ground. Dad and I chased after her across the common and Dad eventually caught hold of the iron bar and tried to rein her in. Dolly was having none of it and set off running. Dad didn’t let go and was dragged across the common through puddles and gorse bushes. He was a determined bloke, my dad!

By the time Dolly gave in (Dad didn’t!), they were a good way off but Dad proudly brought her back, he was covered in mud and with not a few cuts and scratches on him. But he also had a triumphant smile across his face – he had beaten her.

It was a good tale which Dad told widely, and I told all my friends, but they still bought an old ex-army lorry a few months later.

But that’s a story for another time.

[Gel403]

I love reading these stories of yours Ron, i can almost see you as a little boy.I look forward to reading some more :top:

[miffy]

Heehee--just so we can get an even better picture, have you got a picture of you as a little boy, Ron, in your grey flannel short trousers????? Preferably with Dolly !!!! :)

xxjan

[Pipeman]

heehee--just so we can get an even better picture, have you got a picture of you as a little boy, ron, in your grey flannel short trousers????? Preferably with dolly !!!! :)

xxjan


no!:(:( :D

[Pipeman]

It was 1955 that I bought the book – I wrote the date on the inside cover so I know that’s right, and I still have the book. The Title is “Cricket in The Blood” and the author Dudley Nourse.

Now that name might not mean much to many of you but I hope that at least Sharkbait knows who I’m talking about as Dudley Nourse was one of South Africa’s cricketing greats, as was his father. That evening in 1955 I lost myself in the book, reading of the old cricketing legends, Hutton and Bradman, Larwood and Lindwall, Wright and Verity, and so on.

In late Spring each year the market garden produced thousands and thousands of bedding plants of all types, from Lobelia to mesambryanthemums, from dahlias to geraniums, and attended markets near and far to sell them.

I was thirteen (and a half) at the time and well able to handle a stall on my own and so I caught the early bus to Dewsbury market, where I handed over the envelope from Dad with the ten bob note in it to the market man so that he would give us a decent casual stall. It was then a case of waiting until the lorry arrived with the plants.

When you are on your own then you sometimes have to leave your stall, to get some tea or to use the loo, and a neighbouring stallholder would keep an eye on for you. On this occasion I lingered by a stall selling new books cheaply, as some shops do today (The Works, etc) and I spotted this book by Dudley Nourse, who I had never heard of, but it looked good so I bought it for a shilling.

Around half past four, as trade died down I packed up the stall, counted the takings, and by five fifteen I was sat waiting for the lorry to come and collect me.

As I sat on the stall I opened the book and began to read, and the chapters rolled by until when I looked around me I was the only one left on the market!

Oh dear, couldn’t ring home because mobiles hadn’t been invented, and we had no telephone at home to ring anyway.
After a few more chapters and tales of exciting Test matches I did begin to get a little concerned. Where are they? Have they forgotten me? Will Mam notice I haven’t come for my tea? What if I get robbed when the pubs come out?

Eventually I heard an old lorry trundling onto the market area but my relief changed to panic when I saw it wasn’t our old ex-army lorry, and it was Nine o’clock!

It pulled up beside me and a familiar voice rang out, “Ey up, young Ronnie, what’s tha doing ‘ere?”

It was Bert Kynaston, the local coalman, and as we rode home from Dewsbury in his dusty wagon he related how the old army lorry had pegged out returning home from Wakefield market and he had been hired at short notice to pick up people working on Doncaster and Dewsbury markets.

Goodness knows how I would have survived that evening without my book to pass the time!

[miffy]

Well all i can say is, i've paid good money to read worse stories than this, Ron!You should put all these recollections into order, & see if you can collect enough of them to fill a book! It worked for Alan Titchmarsh--& just cos he's famous now, doesn't make his childhood memories any more interesting than an ordinary chap, after all, he wasn't famous when he was young--but the tales of his youth were no more interesting to read than the lovely tales you've regaled us with !! I read his book about growing up & loved it, just as i am loving reading yours!!

xxjan

[Pipeman]

The Chicken Hut

Holidays didn’t happen very often in our family, mainly due to a lack of money, an affliction suffered by most of the village who regarded the annual Club Trip organised by the two Working Men’s Clubs in the village as the holiday.

The Club trip was quite an occasion – all the village went except us because Dad was teetotal and not a Club member!

Anyway, the village used to go down the wood side to the station which although called Sharlston Station was actually in the next village. We kids used to watch them go.

There were always two trains – great long ones and they set off half an hour apart, loaded with mams and dads, kids aplenty, and crates of ale and boxes of crisps aplenty too. Blackpool or Bridlington was the usual destination because they were close and therefore less time was wasted travelling.

They would return the same evening about eight or halfpast with buckets and spades, funny hats and not a few drunken dads trying to negotiate prams and pushchairs up the wood side!

But I digress. This particular year we all woke up one morning to the news that we were going on holiday to Thornwick Bay near Bridlington in an hours time. Joy was unbridled! Mam had packed everything the night before after we had gone to bed, Dad had shaved and found his suit and best cap and we were dressed in our best Sunday School clothes. What excitement.

The journey had been planned out and we travelled by a series of service buses, change at Knottingley, Selby, Driffield, and eventually Bridlington where we got yet another bus to Thornwick Bay and the bungalow that Mam and Dad had found in the paper. “Sleeps five, toilet, running water, cooking facilities and so on.”

“Nowt but a bloody chicken ‘ut!” Dad declared as we stepped inside. It was one great disappointment to them, but we kids didn’t mind, even though yours truly had to sleep on a chair for a week!

And then it began to rain, and it rained Sunday, most of Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and on Thursday it began to blow as well and that night Dad got us all out of beds and chairs at about one in the morning, and told us to get dressed as he thought the wooden chicken hut was about to be blown over the cliff edge, as we were only about fifty yards away. What excitement!

On Friday, Mam and Dad said we were going home early, the site was muddy as we carried our cases out of the field and to the bus stop for Bridlington, Driffield, Selby, Knottingley, and home!

A holiday to remember so much that my brothers and I talk of it regularly over fifty years later.

http://www.tog247.com/gallery/data/500/thumbs/Lord_family_at_Bridlington.jpg ('http://www.tog247.com/gallery/showphoto.php?photo=3536')

PS – I’m the one with the school cap on – I was a big lad and had to wear it to get in places half price!

[miffy]

Ooooooooooooh---how posh!!!!!!! LONG trousers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:D you WERE a big lad, weren't you????;)

I really enjoyed this latest chapter, Ron--i bet you were the envy of all the other kids in the village!! A whole WEEK's holiday!!!! ah, these simple childhood memories are the ones we cherish, aren't they?? As you and your brothers will agree !

xxjan

[Pipeman]

Bloody Cats!

We’ve always had cats, but I don’t have to like them do I?

In my youth I played cricket for a local team, not that I was very good, although I did have my moments. As a fourteen year old I came in last as I was making up the numbers, with 10 runs needed to win in a low scoring derby cup tie with the next village, and I got them on my own! Later in my career I took four wickets in five balls including a hat trick and a dropped catch, which made the local rag. Those two exploits are my only cricketing claims to fame in a very undistinguished career, although my cousin John once took 6 wickets for 1 run playing for Lytham St Annes in the Northern League when they dismissed Darwen for 6 – top class cricket that was, not the rubbish I played!
If you don’t believe me then look here:

http://www.stannescricketclub.org/1966.html

Anyway, as I lived in a town – we moved there when Mum and Dad bought a shop due to Dad’s ill health – I played for a team about five miles out of Wakefield and often took my mate with me on the back of my pride and joy – a Triumph Tiger Cub motorbike. You could see your face in the chrome on that bike – it was polished so regularly that Mam complained when I kept pinching her polish. Did thousands of miles to the gallon and could move at 250 mph down our street. Well, it seemed like that at the time!

I’d been to practice one Thursday evening – you always went on Thursdays as that’s when the committee sent for the scorebooks and picked the teams, and you wanted your face to be seen!

On the way back from the ground there is a sharp bend on a hill and as I rode around the bend a cat ran across the road, collided with my front wheel sufficiently to twist it and topple me off – the bike finished up on top of me and the handlebars were bent something shocking! The cat ran off of course. I managed to get the bike home where Mam patched up my cuts and bruises and a friend later straightened out the handlebars for me.

Only a few years ago I was talking to my old cricketing pal and recalled the incident, going through all the details.
He replied,“Eh, Ron, I know all about that – tha’s forgotten that I was riding pillion at t’time!”

[sharkbait]

I have an old photo from my rugby days somewhere... i'll see if i can find it....

[sharkbait]

i've put a photo of me playing rugby in the gallery... this is from 1990 and appeared in our local paper

[Pipeman]

i've put a photo of me playing rugby in the gallery... this is from 1990 and appeared in our local paper

So which one is you Dave?

[Pipeman]

Chapel Anniversary

The highlight of the Chapel year was The Sunday School Anniversary.

It took place over two Sundays in July when there were three services each day, but we kids started practicing back in April under the direction of Uncle Jack – not a real uncle, but the brother of the Mr Seymour who taught me to play the piano. Uncle Jack was married to Aunty Violet, the Sunday School Superintendent, a much loved lady who cared deeply for all “her” children. When she died I was well into my thirties, and still believed that she was so well known and loved that it would be all over The Wakefield Express, but it wasn’t.

Anyway, Uncle Jack taught us all the hymns, and emphasised that all these hymns and songs had been bought in at great cost and we must therefore sing them very well to justify the cost – some had cost the Chapel over three pounds he said, and people were coming from as far away as Barnsley to hear us!

The older children could buy music copies of the hymns and Mam used to get these all together and put a front and back of brown paper on them, and then run a stitch up the spine on her Singer sewing machine to make a small book of them – very posh!

The Chapel choir would join in for Wednesday practices for the final three weeks and a fine presentation was the result. Mr Seymour who taught me the piano used to play the organ and his son Roy sweated at the back pumping the bellows.

When the Anniversary Sundays arrived, we were all dressed in our best clothes and seated on the special platforms constructed by the men of the Church – the seemed very rickety but never fell down! The Chapel was usually packed – Mams, Dads, aunts, uncles, Grandmas and a few Grandads too.

We sang our songs, read our poems,( known as pieces) and had a lovely time, especially as the preacher always spoke to us kids instead of delivering a fire and brimstone sermon to the grownups. Those children with good attendance records were also presented with a book by the preacher.

In the interval between the afternoon and evening services our family went back to Grandma Brabbs’ house across the road for tea – all aunts and uncles were there as well as our cousins so it was quite a do.

After the evening services all the adults congregated outside to say how well everyone had done whilst we kids ran around getting our Sunday best dirty and generally causing mayhem for passing traffic. I recall that the sun always shone on those idyllic evenings.

At the conclusion of the second Sunday one would have thought that was it, but no, another of the Seymour brothers used to turn up at the chapel on Sunday mornings for the next four weeks with his swept out coal lorry, so that the entire Sunday School, together with adult helpers could go around the streets singing our Anniversary hymns and knock on doors to collect money for the Annual Sunday School outing, usually a picnic to Wakefield Park.

Uncle Jack used to accompany the singing on his piano accordion and the little children sat on the back of the lorry. It never rained would you believe?

That mighty Methodist Chapel is sadly no more. Dry rot invaded the place about 25 years ago and it was demolished, a small Church built in its place to cater for the smaller congregation.

But whenever I drive by my memory goes back almost sixty years to those wonderful, never to be seen again, Sunday School Anniversaries.