Revisiting County Street ...... Lost and forgotten streets of Manchester .......... nu 96

 This is County Street which is so unremarkable that it’s another of those narrow side streets not even worth a glance.

County Street, 2026

It is situated off Mount Street between Central Street and Lloyd Street, and goes nowhere.

It has none of the mysterious promise of other small side streets which might entice you in.

True it is narrow enough but it is also very short, ends in a dead end and has no twisty bits which make you wonder what is round the corner.

By 1900 it was just what you see now, although then it was called Chapel Street and ran into the back of the Memorial Hall and which is now a restaurant.

Go back just another fifty years and the street was indeed a more twisty stretch continuing all the way down to Coach Makers Entry which ran from Jackson’s Row to Lloyd Street.

And had you turned into it from Mount Street in 1851  it would have led to Brignall’s Dye Works and a Tannery before going off north and  east taking in any properties and passing the backs of another six buildings before exiting out on Coach Makers Entry, where for good measure there was the Coach Makers Arms.

The street in 1851

I can’t be sure when it was cut but it will date from after 1819, and indeed just fifteen years earlier this was just open land with a pond where the Albert Square Chop House now stands.

So it may not be much now but go back long enough and there was a lot more to that dead end, with plenty of stories just waiting to be uncovered.

Location, Manchester

Pictures; County Street, 2026, from the collection of Andrew Simpson and the street in 1851 from Adshead’s map of Manchester, courtesy of Digital Archives Association, http://digitalarchives.co.uk/ 

At the chippy on the green with Mrs Jones and "Chippy Madge"

Now I am always fascinated by those pictures which call up a rich seam of memories that cross the generations.

And this one pretty much does just that.  We are inside Chorlton Green Supper Bar sometime in the late 1960s courtesy of Bob Jones.

Just a few years later it would be one of my regular haunts and later still the chosen chippy of my lads.

And I will not be alone in remembering that tiny room with the tiled counter and steamed up windows with the bright lights and promise of something good to eat.

Even now nothing is quite like going into a chip shop on a cold winter’s evening.

It starts with that wall of heat and then the distinctive smell, along with the noise of the chips in the deep fryer and the rustle of paper.

And there is also the conversations which are a mix of the humorous, the mundane and usually a little of the village gossip.

Of course most of what is said might well be repeated over the counter of the newsagents and in the pub but waiting in line for your supper offers up plenty of time to listen to what is being said and an opportunity to add your own contribution.

Now I am old enough to remember getting your chips in newspaper and then walking home on dark nights with that double pleasure which came not only from eating the chips but from holding the bag which kept your hands warm.

So Bob’s picture is just that bit special, more so because on the right is his mum and on the left “Chippy Madge.”

All too often photographs like this one get lost over time and with it go a tiny but important record of how things were.

And it is the little often trivial things, like the name “Chippy Madge” and “Blind Bob the Barber”, which say something about the time and the place.

The nicknames were rarely meant to be cruel and were just one of those things that you said.

Madge worked in the chip shop and her name was Madge so “Chippy Madge” it was, and more often than not there would be a raft of such names for everyone from the milkman to the chap who came round to sharpen your knives.

I may not get out as often these days or visit as many places but I rather think such names are no longer as common and that is a shame.

Picture; Mrs Jones and “Chippy Madge” circa 1960s courtesy of Bob Jones, and the Chorlton Green Supper Bar 1978 from the collection of Tony Walker.

The Letter Box graveyeard and other posty stories

In The Woolwich Drill Hall circa 1965

Now one of the places I wish I had visited back in 1965 was the old Woolwich Drill Hall in the company of my friend Jean because there I would have seen a pretty impressive collection of old Victorian pillar boxes.

I suppose we take the pillar box like the telephone kiosk for granted and only really begin noticing them as they disappear from our streets.

And as you would expect here there is a rich and fascinating history, which is best told by Jean.

Victorian Letter Box

“In 1963 the Post Office began to replace all the single-aperture posting boxes in Central London with double-aperture ones.  

Concerned about the loss of so many Victorian examples, which were now being sold for their scrap metal value, I persuaded the manager of the SE London Postal District to send all those he recovered to the former Drill Hall in Woolwich, where I could try to identify the rarest examples and find them a Good Home.   

This he did, and I spent many Saturdays there in the task selecting boxes of all types for donation to a suitable museum. 

As I was in the early stages of researching the history of the many different kinds of Victorian letter boxes (which was to lead to my book The Letter Box, published in 1969), this gave me a unique opportunity to examine at close quarters and in one place the great variety in size and design. 

One of these recovered boxes was donated to The Eltham Society, which then (in 1965) had hopes of opening a small museum of local history in the Orangery. 

The first of many, 1952 Whitehall

Today, I am still looking after this 'Penfold' pillar box (named after its designer, J W Penfold, and dating from the 1860s) in my garden.

One of the replaced pillar boxes (of which all trace was sadly lost ) was England's first pillar box of the present Queen’s reign - erected in Whitehall, near the Horseguards' Parade in November 1952. 

Scotland's first pillar box of the present reign was unveiled at the Inch Housing Estate, Edinburgh, on 28 November. 

Within 36 hours it had been daubed with tar and, after a few more such incidents, it was blown-up by a home-made bomb.  Why?  

This was because it bore not only the legend Post Office and the crown of St Edward but also the E11R cypher, which was offensive to Scots as there had been no previous Scottish monarch of that name and, even worse, England's Elizabeth 1 was responsible for the execution of Mary, Queen of Scotland. 

A little bit of Scotland in Yorkshire

Early in 1953, the Secretary of State for Scotland proposed that future posting boxes and mail vans intended for use in Scotland should bear no cypher at all. 

His suggestion was taken up by the Post Office and, henceforth, these bore only the legend Post Office and the Scottish Crown. 

One of these Scottish post boxes was inadvertently sent to Keighley in Yorkshire- but this went unnoticed by the locals!

Many years later Royal Mail, in order to meet the demand for period letter boxes in special locations, commissioned facsimile 'Penfolds' for places such as Chislehurst in Kent.”

Story and research by Jean Gammons, November 2013

Source; The Letter Box – a history of Post Office Pillar and Wall boxes by Jean Young Farrugia-(Centaur Press 1969).  Further information can be obtained from the Letter Box Study Group www.lbsg.org

Pictures from the collection of Jean Gammons

Albert welcomes you back to his Square …… Friday in May*

For those in the know and heaps more who just wandered into Albert Square, the place has been progressively reoccupied by office workers, tourists and me.

Our Albert, 2026

The sun was shining and having completed a trip to the Crescent in Salford, the bus deposited me back by the Town Hall.

On Albert's steps, 2026

Sitting below Mr. Heywood, 2026

And as you do, I took a stroll across this much-loved open space which along with the Town Hall went dark while the builders, and restorers got to work.

Sharing the moment, 2026

I can remember the square back in the 1960s when buses and taxis vied with parked cars to dominate what should have been a grand civic statement framed by the Town Hall and shared with two public lavatories, Prince Albert, and four 19th century worthies.

It was busy and not always a place you wanted to linger.

Confused and cluttered, 1979

Passing through, 2026

But judging by the numbers sitting in the sun yesterday that has changed, and it is now becoming popular again and will rival  St Peter’s Square just round the corner.

Mr. Gladstone approves, 2026

Of course, the square by the trams does have one of the only statues to a woman, while Albert shares his spot with Mr. Gladstone, Mr. Heywood, John Bright, and Bishop Fraser.

What we have lost, 1979

Still the fountain will soon be working again leaving me just to reflect that Albert and hs four chums should be pleased with the place they inhabit.

Location; Albert Square

Pictures; Friday in May sharing the square with office workers and tourists, 1979 & 2026, from the collection of Andrew Simpson

*Ofcourse Eric would dispute that the square is Albert's ... pointing outt that it is and always was a place for everyone.

Of paddling pools and vanished pastimes in Chorlton Park

Now if you are of a certain age you will remember the paddling pool in Chorlton Park.

Now this is not to be confused with the big open air swimming pool which was a feature of the park when it first opened, and was 50 yards long, 21 yards wide running from 5 feet 3 inches at the deep end to 2 feet and 6 inches at the shallow end.

It is a story for the blog for another time but does appear in that book I wrote with Mr Topping and entitled
The Quirks of Chorlton-cum-Hardy, which came out last year.

So back to the paddling pool.  Until yesterday I only had the one picture of the paddling pool which dates from the 1930s, but yesterday Roger Shelly sent over this one, which he took in the 1960s or 70s.

Leaving me just to include the map from 1933showing all the features of the newly built park.

Location; Chorlton Park

Picture; the paddling pool, circa 1960s/70s from the collection of Roger Shelly, and detail from the OS map of Manchester & Salford, 1933-34

Lost and forgotten streets of Salford nu 8 .... Chapel Street

Now before anyone says anything I am quite well aware that Chapel Street is neither lost nor forgotten.

Anyone who has tried to cross the road from Trinity Church to the other side during the rush hour well testify to that.

But for JBS who sent this picture postcard on July 12 1905 at 3.30 pm Chapel Street as she experienced it has long gone.

She had arrived that morning “all safe ..... weather Beautiful, if I can I shall stay here till Wednesday providing I can find lodgings.”

I can’t be sure but given that the card was addressed to a Miss Smith of 78 Wellington Street, Batley, I think we can assume she was from Yorkshire.

And the rest as they is up to the curious to match her lost Chapel Street with ours today.

Location; Salford 3

Picture; Chapel Street, 1905, from the collection of Mrs Bishop

Treasures from adventures in Peckham and Greenwich .............

To this day I wonder what happened to the gas mask and the replica18th century cap gun we found on our adventures.

Andrew Simpson, 1959

They weren’t found on the same day and now almost sixty years after the discoveries I have no clear idea of when we actually came across them.

We found the gas mask in a row of derelict houses on Queens Road up past the station.

I always thought that the block had been the victim of the Blitz, but it is more likely they were just awaiting demolition having done seventy or so years and were too tired to be saved.

And on what was a grey indifferent winter’s day with the light fading Jimmy, me and John Cox went exploring in the houses.

I remember they were still pretty much intact and somehow we got inside, wandered around and came across a pristine gas mask, still in its box.

It had that shinny look as if it had just come off the production line, with not a mark or scratch.

The filter I remember was white and there was a green painted strip around the black nozzle and I have no idea what happened to it.

It will have been the prize of the day but who took possession of it or what they did with it is lost.

Walking the tunnel, 2017

I do know that the cap gun stayed with me for a while and may have lingered around the house till we moved out to Eltham.

It had been found on one of our regular walks through the Greenwich Foot Tunnel, somewhere midway when the incline ends and you start to see the other end.

As adventures go it was always one of the good ones.  Aged ten there was the slight thrill at being under the River with all that water above you, and more often than not you were almost on your own, making the place just that bit scary.

Looking down to the Greenwich Foot Tunnel, 1977

Added to which there were the echo of your voices and then the sound of strange footsteps which would take an age before you could identify the person they belonged to.

Sometimes that led to the guessing game. Grown up or kid, male or female, old or young?  There were endless permutations and it lasted as long as it took for the mystery person to appear or how soon we bored with the game.

Finally there was the exit into that other place and having got there we felt obliged to stay in the small park and gaze out back across the river towards home.

But mindful that we were on someone else’s turf the stay was always short.

The Woolwich Foot Tunnel, 1978

What I do find curious is that we never used the Woolwich Foot Tunnel, that had to wait until the family moved to Eltham, and with the counter attraction of the Ferry, walking under the Thames was never going to happen.

By which time my Peckham adventures were over.

But in rediscovering them I remembered one last find, which came from the old Gaumont on Peckham High Street.  It wasn’t one I often went in preferring the ABC on the Old Kent Road but it was there that I found a shed load of those old film cuttings, which were small but when held up to light revealed an image.

The trouble of course was that there was little chance of ever re-sequencing them and in a matter of months they were thrown away. Just when I had come across them is also forgotten but I do know that the cinema closed on May 15th 1961, bowing out with Norman Wisdom in the “Bulldog Breed”and “The Final Dream”.

Such are the discoveries made on adventures.

Pictures; the foot tunnels, April 2017 from the collection of Neil Simpson, Looking down to the foot tunnel, 1977 from the collection of Jean Gammons, Andrew Simpson, circa 1959 and the Woolwich Foot Tunnel, 1978, from the collection of Andrew Simpson