Lost and forgotten streets of Manchester nu 93 ….. under the arches at Hoyle Street

To be fair Hoyle Street is still there, running from Fairfield Street down to the Ring Road.

But I think it cuts a sad appearance, and today is best known by those seeking free car parking space and the odd fan of railway viaducts, because a  big chunk of it is covered by the brick viaducts that stretch out from Piccadilly Railway Station while the rest is bordered by open land and a few industrial units.

It is a place waiting for something to happen, and no doubt that something will be blocks of apartments and perhaps even in a new “office quarter”.

And that has been its fate for over 70 years.  

In 1950, the entire stretch from Fairfield Street to Tipping Street was devoid of any buildings save one pub, and a couple of warehouses with the ominous word “Ruins” recorded on the section by the River Medlock.*

But it hadn’t always been so.  The OS map of 1894 records a line of houses the length of Hoyle Street all the way to Tipping Street and dominated halfway down by the Britannia Brewery.  

Although strictly speaking Hoyle Street ended where the Medlock crossed underneath, as  the remaining part was New York Street.

Just when Hoyle Street was cut is still unclear.  It is absent from Johnston’s map of 1818 but is there by 1840, when a Mr. Adam Jackson was living at no 3.  He described himself as a “Teacher of Mathematics and  was listed as such in Slater’s Directory for 1855.

And he rubbed shoulders with neighbours who might equally be regarded as a cut above the average.  

These included, an engraver, a manager, a solicitor’s clerk, a Professor of Music and a “superintendent of police”.  

But it was still a mixed community and there was also a shop keeper, warehouseman, a file cutter, mechanic and cooper.

It is difficult to work out just what the properties were like, but Mr. Jackson and some of his neighbours were paying 5s a week in rent. 

At which point trying to make comparisons based on total income is fraught with difficulties, but in the 1850s  a male teacher in a National School would earn a £1 a week and female teacher 6s and manual workers might bring in more or less depending on their skills and circumstance.  So a textile worker in his 30s could command a wage of 22s 8d,  which was much better than an agricultural labourer who might be paid between  15s to 21s  a week with a few on 24s.**

Just what the 5s a week brought is also difficult to work out.  Only a few of the properties on Hoyle Street had survived into 1911, when the census return recorded the number of rooms in each house.

Most of those left consisted of 5 rooms, but some were only three.

Sadly Mr. Jackson’s house is not one of those that made it onto the 1911 census and that I think must be because it was swept away by an extension to the railway viaduct in 1905.

Leaving me just to reflect on what Mr. Jackson and his wife Margaret would have seen as they walked out of their home on a summer’s day in 1851.

Their home was in the shadow of the first railway viaduct, while opposite there was a timber yard and the Ardwick Saw Mill.

The River Medlock which flowed just a few feet away was still open to the sky, and supplied water for the Britannia Brewery and a host of factories close by which included two dye works and the Mayfield Print Works.

Of course, we will never know just what they thought of where they lived, but I am guessing it was a world away from the rural Cumberland where they had both grown up.

The incessant noise from the factories, the regular sound of railway trains passing close by, and the pervading smells from the river and various dyeworks were something I doubt they ever really came to terms with.

But that is so much historical speculation and tosh and seems a good point to close.

Pictures;  Hoyle Street Bridge, 1898, H. Entwhistle, m66779, m66778, courtesy of Manchester Libraries, Information and Archives, Manchester City Council, http://images.manchester.gov.uk/index.php?session=pass Hoyle Street in 1851, from Adshead map of Manchester 1851, courtesy of Digital Archives Association, http://digitalarchives.co.uk/ Temperance Street, Hoyle Street Junction looking towards Ardwick Station; and the River Medlock, 2020 from the collection of John Anthony Hewitt

*The Corporation Inn

**Textile workers, Frow, Edmund & Ruth, Radical Salford, Neil Richardson, Swinton,1984 page 34, and agricultural labourers, Agricultural Labourers’ Earnings, Parliamentary Papers 1861

A little bit of religious dissent in Whalley Range .... The Independent Lancashire College

I like this picture of the Independent Lancashire College in Whalley Range.

It had been here since 1843 and even before it was finished it was causing a stir amongst “the Public and more especially by strangers, respecting this beautiful specimen of gothic architecture which is seen to great advantage from the roads leading westward out of Manchester.”

It origins lay in the fact that Dissenters along with the Catholics were still barred from entering the Universities, and lay professions.  They could not marry in their own places of worship and had to rely on Anglican Churches for registering births and deaths.

This had led to the establishment of an independent academy in Blackburn was opened in 1816 to “educate young men of decided piety and competent talents for the Christian ministry.”**

By 1838 the academy was no longer adequate for this purpose and a new “collegiate building affording more extensive domiciliary accommodation,”” was agreed upon which would be sited in Manchester.

A public subscription was launched to meet the cost of what was estimated would be £10,000.  It says much for the strength of dissent in the North West that within two years the sum of £14, 736 was raised which eventually exceeded £25, 000.

And with all such subscriptions the contributions ranged from the modest to the very substantial, so while Mr Joseph Taylor of Ashton handed over £2, George Hadfield from Manchester gave £2,100, Samuel Fletcher £1,300 and our own Samuel Brooks of Whalley House £1, 550.

Brooks however also benefited from selling the seven acre site for its construction for £3,650.

The foundation stone was laid In September 1840 and the college opened in 1843.

Pictures; of the college circa 1910 from the Lloyd Collection and the Blackburn Independent Academy from The Lancashire Independent College, 1843-93

*Manchester Guardian 1842

** Resolution of the committee held in the vestry of the Mosley Street Chapel, Manchester February 1816, and quoted by Thompson, Joseph,  in The Lancashire Independent College, 1843-93, Manchester 1893 Memorial Volume, p18

On being 10 in the summer of 1961 with a Red Rover and a city to explore

Now if you are of a certain age this Red Rover will be your passport to many happy memories.

Andy's ticket to roam, 1965

It offered unlimited travel for a day across London and  I can think of no better thing to do than travel anywhere those old red double deckers would take you.

In 1960 we were still living on Lausanne Road and I think we would have collected the ticket from the New Cross Garage, which begs the question of where I might have picked one up in Eltham.

I am pretty sure you couldn’t buy them on the bus but I guess someone with put me right on that.

Andy sent me this one just a few minutes ago adding, “as a bus spotting nerd I used to use these lot. This one was purchased 2 days after I was 12 3/4 years old. 

I would plan my journey taking in various bus garages, leave about 7 in the morning armed with salad cream sandwiches and arrive home about 10 hours later, all on my lonesome!”

Sadly I never had the forethought to plan in advance, going off on the spur of the moment when the sun shone and the pocket money was burning a hole in my pocket.

Needless to say some at least of my adventures ended in the most disappointing places.

The White Tower in the Tower of London, 2014

It remains one of those cast iron certainties that just because a place sounds interesting and the bus goes there it doesn’t always mean that the destination will prove memorable.

Even now I shudder at the thought of the run down canal beside some sad looking buildings which proved not to be the highlight of one trip.

But then the beauty of the Red Rover was that you could just wait for the next bus and travel on to pastures new.

And all the time there were things to see from out of the window.

 So even if the front seats on the top deck were taken there was always that seat behind the driver which not only offered up the same view that he could see, but with a bit of imagination allowed to imagine you were driving the 161 down to Woolwich or the 36b across town.

In my case it would start and sometimes end at the Tower of London, but that as they is another story.

Instead I shall just reflect that having reached that magic age which qualifies me for a concessionary bus pass I can and do roam across the city making full use of both the trams and the trains.

So there you have it, one Red Rover a shed load of memories and not once did I throw in that title of a Beatles song.

Location; pretty much anywhere in London

Picture; a Red Rover, 1965 from the collection of Andy Robertson, and the Tower of London, 2014 from the collection of Ryan Ginn

Travels with houmous ……

Now, I have my old friend Lois to thank for setting me off on a journey with houmous. 

Houmous, 2026

It is of course one of those foods which is served up as a starter or one of several dishes often eaten cold.

And today, she wrote about her first encounter with this dip from the Levant in her blog.*

My Wikipedia tells me that houmous is a dip,  made from cooked mashed chickpeas blended with tahini, lemon juice, and garlic. The standard garnish includes olive oil, a few whole chickpeas, parsley, and paprika”.**

And for those unfamiliar with the Levant it’s that area at the eastern end of the Mediterranean and includes Akrotiri and Dhekelia, Cyprus, Hatay Province, Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Palestine, Syria, Egypt, Greece, Iraq, Libya and Turkey.***

That said purists would limit the definition to just the first eight countries.

I grew up with the Levant, mainly through old historical maps and from the books of Eric Ambler who described the area where spies, and police chiefs mingle with petty criminals, drug dealers and dodgy bankers, set against a backdrop of seedy and romantic places between the two world wars. People die in nasty ways; no one can be trusted and always the agents of foreign powers lurk in the shadows. 

Ten minites out from the Pireaus, bound for the Levant, 1982

My favourite of the books is the "Mask of Dimitrios" written in 1939 which pretty much begins with the discovery of a body fished out of the sea and identified in an Istanbul morgue as that of a notorious criminal and by degree takes the investigator to Smyrna, and on to the Piraeus, Sofia and eventually Paris. 

Along the way he encounters more murders, the trafficking of women, a smuggling gang, a stash of heroin, a bit of blackmailing and an Italian spy. 

Nor is this all because the dead criminal faked his own death and our investigator is at various times, betrayed, framed and imprisoned. 

In the Levant, 1982

For a sixteen year old this was a world far removed from southeast London and introduced me to a mysterious but shabby place and time, which I would not begin to visit for another twenty years.

By which time like Lois I had been introduced to houmous and a whole mix of food from the Mediterranean and in the process fell in love with both olives, and olive oil and that way of eating which was all about long slow evenings with heaps of food, fine wine, and good company.

None of which is unique to me, but I suppose marked out that journey from uninviting salads and over cooked vegetables and many a mundane meal to different and exciting dishes.

Gigantes plaki 2003

But then each generation discovers their food of choice. For my parents, grand parents and great grandparents it will have been new products sourced from Britain’s empire, made possible by advances in food preservation and cheap foreign labour and enhanced for those in the armed forces who were taken to the far corners of the globe while acquiring and controlling those imperial possessions and fighting the wars of the last century.

And now the invitation to different foods comes via supermarkets, sleek media presentations and the constant desire to discover new things to eat and impress friends.

To my embarrassment I can confess that some of my introductions to new things to eat have indeed come via the supermarket and the telly, but more have been  while on holiday or in the case of humous from a chance conversation with Lois many decades ago. 

Location; The Levant

Food from the Levant, 2023

Pictures; from the collection of Andrew Simpson, 1982-2023

*My go-to hummus; https://loiselsden.com/2026/06/10/my-go-to-hummus/

**Levantine cuisine, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Levantine_cuisine

*** The Levant, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Levant

Lost and forgotten streets of Manchester .......... nu 95 Chadwick Street ...and Mrs. Matilda Lovitt

This was Chadwick Street in 2021.

It is off Fairfield Street and faces out on to Piccadilly Railway Station.

Wyre Street, 2021

Despite being a popular place to park up and wait for someone arriving off a train, you won’t find it on any maps, and it ends pretty much soon after it starts.

Today it is called Wyre Street and dribbles out as a footpath before connecting with Travis Street.

To the casual visitor it has nothing much to commend itself, lacking any buildings bar a brick wall, the railway viaduct that cuts across it and heaps of grass.

Nor was it ever thought worthy of an entry into the directories, although back in 1850 the Stag and Pheasant was recorded in the trades section of Slater’s Directory.  The pub served the 22 houses, and surrounding streets and some closed courts, which will have provided a lot of potential customers.

Despite there being no reference to the street in the directories, I know that some of the 22 homes were back to back properties, and Chadwick Street gave access to a number of closed courts with even more small and mean houses.

Chadwick Street, 1851

We also have the names of the residents who lived there in 1851, and equally important the occupations they were engaged in.  These ranged from skilled and unskilled jobs to a clerk, the inevitable charwoman, as well as those making a living from the streets including a milk seller.

The largest group were connected to the textile trade, covering all the main areas of work and interestingly one who described himself as a handloom weaver.  This was Elias Johnson from Stretford which had been a centre for handloom weaving. 

But as he was 62 I suspect he was describing the occupation of his youth given that by 1851 machines had all but squeezed out most handloom weaving.

Just how many of these visited the Stag and Pheasant is lost, but its landlady a Mrs. Matilda Lovitt ran the place from at least 1848 and into the early years of the next decade.  The Rate Books record it separately as a Public House and also a Beer House, with the pub rated at £40 a year and the beer house at £12.

By contrast the neighbouring houses were rated at between £12 a year down to £2 suggesting that her business was indeed profitable.

We know that she was born in 1808, married her first husband in 1829, and her second in 1856, and was widowed twice.  By the age of 30 in 1841 she had three children and that two of them were still living with her at Chadwick Street in 1851.

Her second husband was also a publican who was the landlord of the Railway Inn at 221 Deansgate.  

He is listed there from at least 1850 through to 1856, but by 1863 has gone.  By which time the Stag and Peasant also does not appear on the records. 

Wyre Street, 2021

And a full thirty years later  Chadwick Street has become Worsley Street, and the Directories record only a clutch of industrial units with one beer shop, leaving yet another name change from Worsley Street to Wyre Street  sometime by 1915.

I doubt we have finished with the street, and in the fullness of time it would be fun to return to track the residents in 1851, leaving me just to add that in 1881 the former Mrs. Levitt recorded as living with one of her children in Preston at the grand old age of 71.

Location; Manchester, 

Pictures; Chadwick Street, 1851, from Adshead's map of Manchester, 1851, courtesy of Digital Archives Association, http://www.digitalarchives.co.uk/ and Chadwick Street, 2021, from the collection of Andy Robertson

That food factory ……. the River ……. and a conversation

Just when I spent my dinner times gazing out over the River talking about music, the chance of over time and pretty much everything is lost.

I think it will be the summer of 1970 and the location was Glenville’s the food factory down by the Blackwall Tunnel.

It could have been the year before or the year after.

Glenville’s made a variety of things from custard powder, and sachets of flavoured water you left in the freezer, to their specialty which was turning powdered milk into granules.

Of all the jobs this was the most unpleasant given that I was tasked with filling large bags of the milk granules as they shot out of a pipe.

It didn’t help that the regulating tap didn’t work very well so you used your hand to stem the flow just long enough to get a bag underneath, and that it came out very hot from being blown through a set of stainless-steel tubes.

Added to which the sweet-smelling stuff stuck to your overalls and worse still your face which on very hot days was prone to mix with your perspiration to form rivulets of milky sweat.

Nor was that all because while we were paid a basic wage there was a bonus for the amount that was produced, and there was the flaw, because on wet and damp days the granulated milk clogged the tubes and production ceased.

At other times I worked in the dispatch area on the ground floor at the end of a long conveyor belt which disappeared into the roof and on to another few floors.

Loading the boxes of assorted “stuff” was never the problem only that they came down at a ferocious pace, and if not unloaded quickly enough would cause a long jam, which the pressure of more from on high meant that sometimes the boxes burst open showering us in clouds of custard or blancmange powder.

All of which meant that breaks and dinner times took on a special place in the day.

And it will have been on one of those that I met up with a South African.

He was the first South African I had met, and I was fascinated by him.  He was a few years older than me, and he had already traveled thousands of miles across two continents, while I had just got the bus from Eltham.

Over half a century later I can’t remember what we talked about other than that song America by Simon and Garfunkel, which chronicles the journey across the US by two young lovers.

We shared the magic of their journey and each of us in our different ways conjured the trip from Saginaw, in Michigan via Pittsburgh to New Jersey.

And now all those years later I have no idea what he looked like or our other companions, and our dinner time conversations are lost.

But listening to America brings back my time in Glenville’s from the smell of the various products being made, along with that of the River to that carefree and optimistic take on life which at 20 I shared with Kathy and her lover.

I still have that optimistic take but long ago lost Glenville's, and despite frequent visits to the area its exact location remains elusive.

So I await a photo, an address or a memory from someone who like me passed a batch of his early 20s at the food factory by the River.

Location; Glenville’s, Greenwich

Pictures; by the River, 1970s, from the collection of Andrew Simpson

Lost Images of Whalley Range number 9 ....... the wedding reception at the Whalley Hotel

Now I couldn’t resist using this receipt for the wedding reception of Mr and Mars Sherratt which was posted recently on facebook by their daughter who has given me permission to reproduce it.

It is dated 1953 and is one of those wonderful little bits of history which are so often lost.

And reminds me of an earlier story about the Whalley Hotel from almost the same period.

Just two years earlier the Manchester City News carried the story of “Wally of the Whalley Says Goodbye.”

Mr Wally Summer and his wife Ethel had run the pub for four years and were leaving Manchester for Anglesey, where they were to take over the Anglesey Arms.

“It's going to be a wrench leaving” he told the City News, “we’ve made hundreds of friends since we came to Brooks’ Bar.  I’ve been amazed at the number of people who have come up to wish us luck.”*

The Anglesey Arms is still there just at the edge of the Menai Bridge.

But sadly the Whalley has closed its doors for good so the receipt and the story are a little of its history.

With a bit of digging I may be able to discover if Mr Bowden had succeeded Mr Summers but that is for another time.

Picture; from the collection of Jayne Sherratt Bailey

*Manchester City News November 16, 1951