One Sunday afternoon in July was the Sunday
School and Patronal Festival at St Jude's Church. The congregation
assembled in Seaford Street outside the Church and Vicarage. Led by a
drum and bugle band from the Boy's Brigade in Cauldon Road, a Procession
of Witness formed up to visit every street in the Parish, stopping for a
hymn and a prayer.
Behind the band was the Processional Cross
and fully robed choir, the Church Banner and the Mother's Union Banner,
the Sunday School children and teachers, the Church Wardens, Sidesmen
and members of the congregation. The band struck up and the procession
moved off, there was to be no afternoon nap this Sunday. Sidesmen with
collecting boxes ran along the pavements, knocking thunderously on every
door, upstairs windows were thrown open and disturbed sleepers in vests
threw money into the street. It was an occasion of great humour and a
public expression of a simple faith.
The seasons of the year dictated our
childish pastimes. Football in the winter months and cricket in the
summer. The perennial soap-box carts or trollies, for there was still
business to be done at the railway station. The servicemen were fewer,
but still in evidence owing to National Service and Britain's overseas
territories. During the summer months however, holiday-makers going and
coming to the station were equally as grateful to have their cases put
on wheels. An alternative was to have your cabin trunk collected
from home some days before departure by Carter, Paterson and Pickfords
and to be waiting for you at your holiday destination on arrival.
Homeward bound the procedure was in reverse: the trunk was left at your
"digs" for
collection and delivery home early the following week. A most reliable
rail service.
At the beginning of Wakes Week, huge queues
would form along Station Road, assembling under large posters bearing
letters of the alphabet which referred to special holiday trains. This
was a popular theme of the Evening Sentinel at that time of year.
In the early 1950's
many of the old street
names were altered. In a modern city comprised of six historic towns, it
was inevitable that there would be many duplications. Church Streets,
High Streets, Market Streets and Park Avenues abounded. The City
Surveyor's Department embarked upon a full scale review of street
names. Where there was duplication, the oldest location retained the
original name with the also-ran's being renamed, sometimes incongruously
to the chagrin of many older residents. St Jude's remained largely
unscathed by this modernisation, although the founding father of
the streets was snubbed when Ford Street became Crowther Street;
Victoria Road became with some logic, College Road and Park Avenue
became Avenue Road. Along Leek Road, Poplar Grove the short, steep
connection with Ridgway Road became Mawson Grove in honour of Hanley
Park's 19th
Century designer.
We spun tops, played marbles in the gutter,
and tossed crown cork bottle tops against walls. We bowled hoops or
bowlers of varying sizes from bicycle wheels to lorry tyres and made
winter warmers - a tin can with a long wire loop, filled with glowing
coals whirled round the head until red hot. Most of the time the wire
held. I was a member of the Boughey Road Gang, which met in the Backs
between Boughey Road and Leek Road, on a triangular patch of black ash
in front of a large commercial garage, whose doors had never been open
in living memory. Through the cracks could be seen vehicle shapes under
dust sheets, but it was always a mysterious place. We all met around
the "pig bin", located there to collect food scraps for someone's pig.
We played mini rounders, football and cricket (because it was not a very
big patch), mass skipping rope events and many other childish games.
Bonfire Night:
The big event of the year however, was
Bonfire Night. Collection began by common consent in September, and by
the 5th of November the fire was many feet high. Like the winter
warmers, fire always had an attraction for children, but on this
occasion, all the adults joined in. The Fire Brigade was only called
once. Guy Fawkes effigies were made and hawked round the streets to
collect money for fireworks. A favourite pitch was on the pavement
opposite Poxon's Field waiting for the workmen. In the November dusk
they could be heard tramping up Leek Road from the direction of the
Railway Station. Hobnail boots on blue bricks make an unforgettable
sound; tired, dirty, be-capped and be-haversacked they trudged home in a
remorseless stream, but always more than a few stopped to toss coppers
into our hat, they who had little to spare.
The Gang also had a territory already
mentioned, Poxon's Field. Reputedly a Corporation depot, for gravel,
kerbs, hard tipped material, and the tank blocks from the war years- a
kids' paradise. We lit fires, built dens, played action-man type games,
dammed the watercourse at the foot of the Sewage Works embankment,
little realising that James Brindley and his men had dug it two hundred
years previously, as a feeder for the Grand Trunk Canal - remember?
Site of Hanley
Sewerage Treatment Works
now part of Staffordshire University sports facilities
We half-heartedly trespassed into the
Sewage Works, to catch a ride on the filter bed sprinklers which ran on
iron wheels around circular rails. Apparently in the past a boy had
fallen off and had lost a leg under the wheels, but we never knew
whether this was just a frightener. We called this place the Tanky
Banks, and were always on the look out for the Tanky Men, especially
Eric who was reputed to be violent if he caught you - we shouted abuse
from a distance. Beyond the Tanky Banks, across the river was Squire
Broade's, an expanse of fields still under cultivation or rough pasture,
where we could walk through the lanes. Up at Fenton Manor was a
girls senior school where our female playmates were destined to go after
Cauldon Road Elementary School. Tales of cruelty and harsh punishment
abounded.
A rival gang had their territory in the
streets behind Winton Terrace near the railway. This was the dreaded
Meadows Gang, who sometimes invaded our space via the allotment paths
but who were always repulsed. Strange to relate, we never invaded their
territory as they were reputed to be lawless and led by a character
called Pegleg. In ones and twos we would venture towards the railway
always keeping to the opposite side of the road, to indulge one of our
greatest passions. Trainspotting!
Train-spotting:
At a low point on the boundary wall which
had been built across the old level crossing during the last century,
near to the old Roebuck Inn and behind the modern statue "A Man Can't
Fly", was a vantage point where two or three boys armed with Ian Allan's
Trainspotting Guide could sit and watch the trains go by. They could
also look down at the notoriously low Glebe Street Railway
Bridge, and hope for an unsuspecting double-decker bus or a high lorry
to get stuck underneath. There was also a steam vacuum-operated
locomotive turn-table over the wall, where engines could be turned round
either by an attached vacuum pump if they were modern, or by a crank
handle operated by the crew if they were not. Great fun to hitch a ride,
keeping on their blind side, but always with an eye out for the railway
policeman. For one penny we could buy a platform ticket and sit in
comfort on the station, or look longingly at the Fry's
chocolate machine long since out of chocolate for these were still days
of sweet rationing. Alternatively we could print our names on a metal
strip if we had a spare coin for the big, red machine with the alphabet
pointer and a handle to print each letter. For three halfpence we could
buy a ticket to Etruria and actually ride on the train. For
twopence we could go to Longport, but that might just as well have been
Manchester - foreign territory!
Stoke railway
station
Winton Square, Station Road
When a few years older, equipped with
cycles, we would ride out for the day to Norton Bridge, Whitmore or
Stableford to see the express trains thunder through en route for Crewe
Junction and the North, or to London Euston. Compared with this super
railway, the line through Stoke was a country lane. All the expresses
were pulled by one or sometimes two top class steam locomotives named
after Battles, Regiments, Warships, Commonwealth and Empire countries;
the stars were the Coronation Class locos - Princess Royal, George VI
and other royal names.
Such freedom would be unheard of today, and
our only restrictions were the weather and daylight. Nationalisation of
the railways meant an end to the liveries of the remaining four
companies - LMS, LNER, GWR and Southern Railways. The political
implications of public ownership were lost on us, but somehow "British
Railways" did not have the same spark. It rather smacked of the
"British Restaurant" in Hanley, where dull food was served up for lunch
to office and shop workers, and was the butt of music hall comics.
Probably the high spot of our trainspotting
mania was when the newly named locomotive "City of Stoke-on-Trent"
visited Stoke Station and was parked for a few days in a small siding
below Grimwade's Pottery in Stoke Road.. The public were invited to
climb steps onto the footplate and see the driver's domain with its
firebox door, gleaming pipework and levers.
The engine was kept in
steam, and sat like a large kettle quietly singing on the hob.
Enthralling!
Then came the demise of steam and the
advent of other forms of propulsion. The first diesel electric
locomotive came to Stoke and boyhood was over.
next: the 1950's and decline
previous: boyhood
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