Down on Maple Avenue with more rare pictures

This is another of those wonderful images from Ray Jones whose family owned one of the houses on Maple Avenue for over a century, spanning the old Queen’s Jubilee, two world wars, and much else.

It was taken by Ray’s grandfather and dates from the 1920s.
That said I bet there will be someone out there who is an expert on such vehicles and can offer up the make, the date and more than a bit of its history.

In the same way there will be someone else who will follow up on the number plate and go to those sites which explain how the letters and numbers can date the car.

But for now I shall just thank Ray and make that obvious remark that there would have been very little other traffic parked up on that sunny day on Maple Avenue.

All of which is in direct contrast to today and leads me to wonder just when the transition happened.

Look at photographs from the 1960s and even early 70's and many roads will still be relatively empty and that I think highlights the need for more pictures from those middling decades.

The collection is full of images from the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when commercial photographers plied their trade selling to local residents as well as the picture postcard companies.

But from the 1960s as the trade in picture postcards went into decline the numbers of photographs has also diminished.

I know they will be out there, mostly as snaps which now sit in family albums or at the bottom of the sock cupboard and bringing them out into the light would advance our knowledge of the area.

So that’s the appeal done, leaving me just to thank Ray and say I know exactly which house on Maple Avenue this is, but until I approach the owners it seems unfair to say more.

Instead I will close with a comment from Ray who thinks "the the motor is a BSA cyclecar but I'm not certain."

Location; Maple Avenue, Chorlton-cum-Hardy

Picture, a car, two kids, and auntie on Maple Avenue, circa 1920s, © Ray Jones

Sweet Thames Flow Softly*

The Thames Flows Down is another of those wonderful children's books written in the 1950s.

It was the companion to  A Valley Grows Up by Edward Osmond.*

The Thames Flows Down was  written by Laurie Osmond and  illustrated by Edmund and tells  the story of the River Thames from its small beginnings to the point when it flowed into the sea.

It is a  mix of history and geography, with the added bonus that it was written in the 1950s and perfectly captures the river and London at a point in time now long gone.

This is my river, that working waterway, when there were still warehouses on the south side facing the Tower of London, and when the docks still provided serious work for many families.

As a child I remember it all and even in the 1960s have memories of barges gently banging together on the tide beside the Cutty Sark pub on long summer evenings.

All of which may seem romantic tosh but it is about the Thames and its impact on those who lived along its banks and relied on it for work long before it became a mere backdrop for luxury flats and flash office blocks.

So I will close with the final words taken from Laurie’s book which pretty much sums up the flow of that river beside which I was born at Lambeth on the south side of the river  which was home for my  first 19 years.

“Back in the quiet reaches of the Upper Valley the Thames still pours steadily seaward through tranquil meadows, where owls are screeching and night jars churr in the trees.  Otters hunt and play, vixen steals for her cubs.

Over the pulsing heart of London an orange glow stains the sky.  The dark, running water is bright with reflections from the City’s embankments, yellow lamplight from bridges pierces the blackness of the tide-race round the piers.  

A police patrol boat slides silently upstream.  A light over Westminster tells that Parliament is still sitting, and along the wharves cranes still work for ships that must make the punctual tides.”

Back in the 1980s I wrote to Mrs Osmond seeking permission to use some of the illustrations from the books in history lessons and she kindly granted permission.

Sadly both books are out of print but maybe one day the O.U.P., will republish both books.  I hope so.

Pictures; from The Thames Flows Down, Laurie Osmond

The Thames Flows Down, Laurie Osmond, O.U.P., 1957

*Sweet Thames Flow Softly* by Ewan Mccoll, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmn5pOxb2iM

**A Valley Grows Up http://chorltonhistory.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/A%20Valley%20Grows%20Up

Pictures; from The Thames Flows Down, Laurie Osmond

The drab street ......the museum ...... and ....... the mural

 There are some parts of the city that even a bright sunlit day in the middle of a perfect summer  will always be drab and uninviting.

And so it is with Grosvenor Street which cuts its way across Upper Brook Street to end at Oxford Road.

There is of course the former Grosvenor Picture Palace, along with The Deaf and Dumb Institute Building, that pub with an interesting alternative past, and the former Oddfellows Hall.

As for the rest, the buildings are mix of 19th and 20th century properties, some of which hide themselves under rather ugly signage, and a carpark of sorts.

When Andy took a stroll down, there wasn’t even a ray of bright sunlight, instead on a grey wet day in February the place did little to sell itself.

But there are always things to clock and wonder at, and so it was with the Oddfellows Hall, whose history can be discovered on line at Historic England.*

And also, at the University of Manchester’s site, Manchester 1824, “The ‘Oddie’ history of MECD’s Oddfellows Hall”.**

Now I have no intention of lifting the information from these two sites, so you will have to follow the links, but together they reminded me that once a long time ago the Oddfellows building was the temporary home of the Manchester Museum of Science and Technology, and I remember walking around the machines on a few occasions in the 1970s.

At the time what fascinated me more was the mural outside on the gable wall, which lingered on after the museum moved out in 1983, beginning to fade and peel, until it was finally painted over.

Back then I never took a picture and I have fallen back on one from Manchester University 1825,  which I have asked permission to use. 

Even back then in the 1970s Grosvenor Street was drab but,  that bright and happy murial always cheered me up.

Location; Manchester

Pictures; Grosvenor Street, 2021, from the collection of Andy Robertson, and that mural, taken from The ‘Oddie’ history of MECD’s Oddfellows Hall

*Historic England, https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1200840

**The ‘Oddie’ history of MECD’s Oddfellows Hall,  https://www.mub.eps.manchester.ac.uk/science-engineering/2020/03/04/the-oddie-history-of-mecds-oddfellows-hall/

Hardy Farm ..... on the edge of the Township

 This is Hardy Farm at the end of Hardy Lane, and you will have to be of an age to remember it.

Hardy Farm, 1965

It has gone now, but it appears on Yate’s map of Lancashire for 1786 and may date back further into the 18th century.

In 1845 it was home to tenant farmer John Cook who farmed 29 acres of meadow, arable and pasture, included in which there was three quarters of an acre of woodland and an acre of orchard.

Four years earlier the census records that he lived here with his wife, five children and Thomas Hand.

The family were methodists and his standing in the community was such that he was a member of the Rate Payer’s Committee and in 1848 was one of the two elected Overseers for the Committee.

The farm stood on the edge of Chorlton and strictly was in the small hamlet of Hardy out by the River Mersey.

Hardy, Chorlton and bit more, 1830

This was a lonely spot which at one point in 1830 could boast five cottages as well as the farm.

But the cottages appear to have been progressively abandoned with the last residents leaving in the early 1850s.

Location; Hardy

Pictures; Hardy Farm, 1965 from the 1965 Collection, and Hennet’s map of Lancashire 1830

Just how exotic could Manchester be? ………. memories of 1971

Now you have to be of a certain age to remember the Ceylon Tea Centre, or its equally enticing rival the Danish Food Centre.

An exotic market place, 1957

Back in the early 1970s they were a revelation to me, who until then had really only known Lyons Corner Houses, Wimpey Bars, greasy cafes and the odd forays for a business meal in the Chinese and Asian restaurants around town.

The Tea Centre was a commercial showcase for Ceylon’s products, and it was there that I first discovered a salad could be more than a soft tomato, some limp lettuce and a bit of curly cucumber smothered in salad cream.

Here were rice dishes, some of which were curried and others which contained fruit, nuts and other exotic things.

I remember the one in Regent Street in London but given that I was a student in Manchester it was the one on St Peter’s Square in Elizabeth House which we went to.

Although we did also do the Danish Food Centre on Cross Street, which had opened to a blaze of publicity on November 19th, 1965.

The Guardian ran the story over a full page, reporting that “the Danish Prime Minister with his wife, the Danish actress Helle Virkner, will attend the opening of the new Danish Food Centre in Cross Street tomorrow”, attended also by “the Lady Mayoress of Manchester, who enters as the first Mancunian housewife  to do so”.*

Ceylon Tea Centre logo, date unknown

There were also a host of other invited guests including “representatives of the Danish agricultural organizations, representatives of the grocery and provision trades of Manchester and district and representatives of women’s organizations and other local associations and institutions”.

The Guardian article did the Centre proud commenting on the décor the air conditioning and reflecting that here was a “little bit of Denmark” which was an “ideal place for a coffee and Danwich – the open Danish sandwich”.

Like the Ceylon Tea Centre, it also sold “quantities of Danish foods, [which] can be bought for an office lunch or a party with a difference at home”.”

Looking back now at a city full of restaurants offering up food from around the world, these two food centres seem quite tame.

Elisabeth House, home to the Tea Centre, 1988

But at the time they were both exciting and innovative, because while you could eat at the Armenian on Fountain Street, the Bella Napoli on Kennedy Street and a host of more expensive and down market eating places, these two were open all day into the evening and were relaxed and easy going.

From memory the Ceylon Tea Centre had a self-service as well as a waitress area and each featured those classic large wall mounted photographs of tea plantations and coastal landscapes.

Together they are part of the changing food culture in a city which just a decade earlier was more likely to have offered up visits to a Wimpey Bar, The UCP outlets, or faded tea rooms which competed with coffee bars and transport cafes.

Location; the 1970s

Pictures; the market, 1957 from Looking at Other Children, 1959**Ceylon Tea Centre, logo***, and Elisabeth House, 1988,m04395, courtesy of Manchester Libraries, Information and Archives, Manchester City Council, http://images.manchester.gov.uk/index.php?session=pass


*Danish Food Centre opens in Manchester Denmark comes to Cross Street, the Guardian, November 18th, 1965

**Looking at Other Children, Jean and David Gadsby, 1957

*** Vernon Corea’s visits to the Ceylon Tea Centre at 22 Lower Regent Street London, https://vernoncorea.wordpress.com/tag/ceylon-tea-centre-lower-regent-street-london/

Of bandstands, demolished churches and a closed pub, Plumstead Common in 1915

Now every good park should have a bandstand.

They were after all the centre of many parks in the late 19th and early 20th centuries which reflected both civic pride and that long history of listening to music in the open air.

I remember the one in Telegraph Hill Park which by the time I knew it had become a sad and forlorn thing.

It had long ago lost its cast iron pillars and roof and was pretty much just an abandoned lump which you past on the way through the park to school.

Now I have discovered an old post card of the bandstand and I think at some stage I will write about it.

But in the meantime I have fastened on another which stood on Plumstead Common.

It must be a full thirty years since I was last there and of course back then I wasn’t looking out for bandstands.

As I remember we called in at the pub on the edge of the Common.

All of which is a lead in to the picture which dates from around 1915, and shows the band stand, and St Margaret’s which was completed in 1859 and lasted just over a century and a bit. It closed in 1968 and was demolished in 1974.

I rather think the bandstand might also have gone and according to one of my sister the pub has also shut up shop.

Well that as they say is how things changes.

Picture; courtesy of Kristina Bedford.

Ms Bedford’s book on Woolwich Through Time is published by Amberley 

When nostalgia is nothing more complicated than a sausage sandwich …….. Bert’s café ...... 1971

Now, we all have our own cherished memories which seem with the passage of time to encapsulate a chunk of our growing up.

Whitworth Street, 1969

For me it is nothing more complicated than a sausage sandwich at Bert’s café on Whitworth Street.

We discovered the place sometime in early 1970 and it remained our collective place to go for the next two years.

Usually it meant missing a lecture at the College of Knowledge, which was just round the corner, and more often than not would be where I fell across Mike, John and Lois, who had also put Bert’s sausage sandwich above lectures in British Social History, the poems of John Donne or French grammar.

Bert's Cafe painted white, 1969

Looking back I suspect the sandwiches were not special, but after the bus ride down the Oxford Corridor from Withington having had no breakfast, and with the knowledge that someone would take the notes, we chose Bert’s over Gladstone.

To some this may seem a trivial piece of personal history, but I think not.

Back then places like Bert’s could be found all over the city centre, although usually down a side street, which you found by luck or by word of mouth.

The food was simple, cheap and catered for everyone.  And because this predated the Café Society, most dishes were a variation on egg sausage, bacon and chips. The coffee was more brown milk and everything also came with promise of baked beans.

And it was just perfect.

Bert’s consisted on one room, with perhaps half a dozen tables, and to the rear a serving hatch.

Whitworth Street, from London Road, 1969

On cold wet days in winter, the heat and smell drew you in, not that you could see anything through the windows which seemed permanently steamed up.

We always seemed to be the only ones there, but the presence of the Police Station and Fire Station across the road must have guaranteed a steady stream of customers until both closed down.

The rest of the stretch from Aytoun Street down London Road consisted of a newsagents, a barber, a warehouse and the pub on the corner.

There was of course also the Twisted Wheel, but I can’t now remember when it relocated to the warehouse, or for that matter when it became Placemate.

But I do remember Bert’s.

Location; Whitworth Street, 1969,

Picture; Whitworth Street, 1969, Courtesy of Manchester Archives+ Town Hall Photographers' Collection,
https://www.flickr.com/photos/manchesterarchiveplus/albums/72157684413651581?fbclid=IwAR35NR9v6lzJfkiSsHgHdQyL2CCuQUHuCuVr8xnd403q534MNgY5g1nAZfY,