Walking the Thames

Now I am the first to admit it’s a bit of a silly title but that is exactly what my friend Neil did, once under the river at Woolwich and then again at Greenwich.

It’s not my chosen way of leaving Woolwich for that other place, but Neil had never seen either of the foot tunnels and so it was an adventure.

I have to say that these are adventures I no longer want to do.

I prefer the ferry where I can see where I am going and know that the water is below me and not above me.

I still have vivid memories of that old illuminated sign at the Wapping and Rotherhithe  Underground Stations  announcing  “Men working on Pumps” when I used the Tube regularly in the 1960s to know that over is better than under, a feeling enhanced by one visit to Easington Colliery.

Kay’s father who was Chief Mechanical Engineer at the pit thought I would be interested in seeing how generations of the Baxter family had made their living.

There was no way I could say no to my future father in law, although a mile down and three miles out under the North Sea I wish I had done so.

I last walked the walk when I was ten and have never done the journey since.
I do remember it was exciting.

The floor slowly sloped down there was that echoing sound of your footsteps and the point where the other exist came into view.

So that is it.  I have thanked Neil for his pictures, which have made me a tad homesick but not enough to do that walk.

Location; London

Pictures, the foot tunnels, April 2017 from the collection of Neil Simpson

Voices from Chorlton ……… 175 years ago

In the summer of 1847 Alexander Somerville had come looking for potato blight, that disease which had ravaged the crops of Ireland and had been reported just a little further south in Derbyshire and what he found were a group of farmers and labourers all too happy to show him we were blight free.  

Mr Higginbotham ploughing Row Acre, 1893

Here were many of the people I had come to know, including James Higginbotham, farmer on the green, Lydia Brown whose farm was just a little to the east of the Bowling Green Hotel and old Samuel Nixon, market gardener and landlord of the Greyhound just over the river.

It is a remarkable piece because Somerville reported and in places quoted what they said.  Nothing quite fits you for hearing their voices, talking of farming issues, joking about what newspapers publish and complaining about their landlords.  These are the authentic voices of 175 years ago.

Nor is that quite it.  For when Somerville and Higginbotham inspect the potato field I know where it was. 

Row Acre, Chorlton Row, and the village 1854

It is the strip of land that ran from the Row along what is now the Rec beside Cross Road, and when they stood admiring the Rose of Sharon apple trees and the Newbridge pears we are just behind the Trevor Arms on what is now Beech Road.

It doesn’t take much imagination to recreate that orchard scene with the smell of William Davis’s smithy hard by and perhaps even the noise of the children in the nearby National school on the Green.

Likewise I am pretty sure I can locate the large bank of earth with ash trees which Lydia Brown was so unhappy about and fully understand why she might contemptuously refer to George Lloyd the landlord as Squire Lloyd because of his refusal to allow her to cut the trees back.

Above all it is that calm and steady confidence of the farmer that shines through.

When Mr Somerville came to Chorlton-cum-Hardy, 1847

Along with Higginbotham’s pleasure that the weather has won out there is the certainty of a life time of experience that allows George Whitelegg to assert that he didn’t believe in blight. Whitelegg ran the Bowling Green Hotel farmed 36 acres and later would go into speculative building.

Mr Higginbotham was 'only afraid that the blight might come.  When it does come it will be time enough to raise the alarm'.

Mr Whitelegg, of Chorlton, told me that 'he was a potato grower, had heard of the blight, had looked for it, could not find it, and did not believe in it'.

Crossing the green meadows I was told at Brook Farm to go down a path under some trees and examine a field; 'for' said the workman who bad me to go, 'it is best for those who want to find the potato disease to look for it themselves and find their own disappointment.'

I told him that I did not want to find it; that I should be well satisfied to find that the blight was not there, to which he replied briefly, 'then, sir you get satisfaction.  The best grown potatoes in this part of the country are in that field, and never since the day that you and were born did the plants look better.'

Looking out towards the green from Mr Higginbotham's farmyard, circa 1880

I found them after close examination to be all that he described them. 

A large bank of earth with ash trees growing upon it – trees which are not only objectionable as all other kinds are in and around cultivated fields but positively poisonous to other vegetation, ran through the ground causing much waste of land, waste of fertility, and doing no good whatever.

Squire Lloyd is the landlord.  Mrs Brown a widow is the tenant.  She keeps the farm in excellent order so far as the landlord’s restrictions will allow.  But neither herself nor her workmen must 'crop or lop top' a single branch from the deleterious ash trees.

Again I was in the green meadows, where the rain that had newly fallen, and the fresh wind that was blowing, and the luxuriant herbage on every side, and the wild flowers prodigal of bloom, all proclaimed that the insurgents now in rebellion against bountiful Providence must soon be defeated and humiliated.

The bridge Mr Somerville crossed to visit the Greyhound, 1865

At Jackson’s Boat where I crossed the Mersey into Cheshire by the bridge which has superseded the boat, the bridge keeper, Samuel Nixon also publican of the Greyhound,  said 'I have been a farmer all my days and never saw anything that can grow out of land look better.  It is only int paper; they must have something to say in paper.'**

Now that is what I call history.

Location; Chorlton


Pictures;  Ploughing Row Acre before it became the Recreation Ground, 1896  Mr Higginbotham's farmyard, circa 1880s, from the collection of William Higginbotham, detail from the 1854 OS map for Lancashire by kind permission of Digital Archives, http://www.digitalarchives.co.uk/ and the old bridge across the Mersey, circa 1865

*Somerville, Alexander, A Pilgrimage in Search of the Potato Blight, Manchester Examiner, June 19th, 1847

**Chorlton Row, is now Beech Road

**The Greyhound is now Jackson's Boat

Walking away with a bargain ...........in the market in Ashton on a Tuesday in February

I had forgotten how much I like Ashton and in particular the market.

We had taken the tram up from Chorlton on a bright sunny day which was perfect for a wander around the town.

The plan had been to visit the museum down at the Portland Basin and as you do we took a slow walk back along Stamford Street and by degree ended up in the main square.

Now the open air market is still in the process of being redone but there were still plenty of the old stalls along with the temporary pitches for our Jill and Geoff up from London to look for bargains.

And Geoff did just that coming away with two very nice shirts a couple of CDs and something for the kitchen.

Jill had debated on whether to buy a couple of pies from the indoor market but didn’t reckon they would survive the journey back.

So instead we wandered off again and explored some of the streets close by and unlike great chunks of south Manchester there are still lots of small interesting shops which offer everything from balls of wool and knitting patterns to fire grates, and fish food.

Location; Ashton-Under-Lyne, Tameside




Picture; the open air market, 2016, from the collection of Andrew Simpson

In Ashton-Under-Lyne with James Butterworth in 1823

Now I made a terrible mistake some years ago and got rid of loads of old history books.

I reasoned as many dated from the late 1960s fresh research would have made them obsolete.

And of course within two years I regretted the act and had bought two of the books all over again.

I should have known better after all I still collect old school history texts just because they tell you so much about what society deemed was important history when they were published.

Usually these meant telling the story from the top down, ignoring the contribution of women and anyone who was not born from a certain class or part of Britain.

The same is also true of many of the history books produced in the 18th and 19th century and aimed at the serious adult reader.

They can be shot through with the same class prejudice but in doing so reveal much about the period in which they were written which of course makes them valuable in their own right.

So here we are with A HISTORY AND DESCRIPTION OF THE TOWN AND PARISH OF ASHTON-UNDER-LYNE AND THE VILLAGE OF DUKINFIELD, written by James Butterworth in 1823.

Like many books from the 19th century it  is available as a free download from Google Books.

I often go back to it as a source not only for the history of Ashton but also for the contemporary descriptions, which are themselves a wonderful record of the past.

So for the time being I shall just point you in the direction of the book and let you wander over its pages discovering as I have done some fascinating stories, made all the more so because Mr Butterworth was there.

Pictures; from A History and Description of the Town and Parish of Ashton-Under-Lyne and the Village of Dukinfield, James Butterworth, 1823

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

Off to Didsbury, in the summer of 1847

Now I can be as adventurous as the next chap and have been known to venture out of the township as far as Didsbury.

It was after all where our farmers went to get their cereal milled and it was where my old chum Alexander Somerville ended up in the June of 1847.

He had come over to Chorlton looking for potato blight, moved across the Mersey by the Greyhound pub at Jackson’s Boat and ended up in Didsbury.  A place he wrote
“of great beauty- not surpassed even by the beautiful fields, meadows, gardens, and the public pathways through them, lying around London.”*

And went on to revel in the place stating boldly

“Let the traveller, passing out of Cheshire into Lancashire by the Northern Ferry, who loves to loiter on the road, and see sights, come at the hour of summer sunset.  Let him approach Didsbury, and look back suddenly through the trees, the traveller will see the houses standing on the brow of eminence, and the gardens with them, and the people looking out of opened windows, the very houses gazing, as it were, with wonder; and the old church, with its graveyard, and the dead of a thousand years around it, standing in the very brink of the eminence.”

This I have to say is not an advert for the place nor a way of ingratiating myself with people of a neighbouring township who might just in the fullness of time buy a copy of The Story of Chorlton-Cum-Hardy** which like Didsbury was a small rural community.

Instead it is a way of introducing a new occasional series highlighting places close by.

And I now have a special interest in the Didsbury  because it is where Miss Leete of Poplar Grove lived, and she is someone I am very interested in because in a rural area dependant on farming she was on the Ladies Committee of the National Anti-Corn Law Bazaar.  The bazaar was held in London in the May of 1845 and was part of the campaign to abolish the Corn Laws.  These had been introduced in 1815 to protect British agriculture but amongst the working class and industrial interests were highly unpopular.

But more of her later, along with and some other interesting aspects of Didsbury in the early 19th century.  In the mean time I finish with my picture of the Didsbury Hotel.  The caption gives a date of 1860-70.

At that time there was a regular horse bus service operating from Manchester to Cheadle which went from "All Saints and from the Commercial Office on Brown Street via Rusholme, Fallowfield and Didsbury 40 minutes past nine, half past seven, and every hour at night; on Sundays at ten, eleven, one, two, half past two, three, half past three, seven, eight and nine.”***

And for those who wanted to travel a little down market there were the carriers of which two operated from Manchester.  These were “James Crompton from 2a Palace Street [off Market Street] and Alfred Midwinter from the Cock, Mark lane [Withy Grove] daily.”


*Alexander Somerville, A Pilgrimage in search of the Potato Blight, The Manchester Examiner, June 19th 1847
** http://chorltonhistory.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/A%20new%20book%20for%20Chorlton
*** Slater’s Directory of Manchester & Salford 1863

Picture; from the Lloyd Collection

A camera ..... a day in 1979 ..... and a lost destination

 I think l was was on one of the roads running parallel to Portland Street, and l thought the building was the former Bank of England close to Piccadilly.

But now l can't be sure.

Alternatively l could be looking towards King Street with what was that other tall black tower which was another bank.

On balance l favour King Street.

Location; Manchester

Picture; the lost location, 1979, from the collection of Andrew Simpson