On becoming your dad

I have become my dad which I suppose is not that surprising really.

It is less the physical appearance although that is clearly there it is instead all those little ways that creep up on you and take you back four decades.

So I caught myself sitting in an armchair recently talking to one of my son’s and all the speech rhythms, along with the words I used and even the hand movements were dad.

He retained his hair longer than I ever did and unlike him I am useless at making and repairing things but the rest could be him.

He was a calm gentle man who always put the five of us first even down to the nightly winter task of putting a hot water bottle  into each of our beds and today whenever our kids are sleeping over I will do the same, even given that the eldest is nearly 40 and the youngest just 28.

And it made me reflect on just how much we carry forward from the lives of our parents and pass on to our own children.

Now dad was born in 1906 and mum in 1920 which pitched their formative years in the first half of the last century and some at least of those experiences flowed into how they brought us up.

Our Christmases blended the growing consumerism of the late 1950s with older traditions which with just a little tweeking could even have come out of the novels of Dickens.

Of course much of it was down to that simple fact that so much of everyday life was still the same.

The coal, the milk and the papers were delivered to the door,  Sidney the knife sharperner made a regular appearance with his hand operated machine which he pushed around the streets and Sundays remained the day you endured with little to do and little on the television to watch.

That said there are clear differences between me and my dad.

I never shared his politics which were grounded on a belief in Empire and property or for that matter his preference for plain food which “was not mixed about.”

Instead I very early adopted  mother’s politics coloured as they were by the mass unemployment and Means Testing of the 1930s.

For her class politics remained at the bedrock of how she voted and how she saw the world.

But then mum died when I was 25 while I had my dad until 1994 which perhaps has something to do with that simple fact that I grew more like him with the passage of time.

Pictures; from the collection of Andrew Simpson

Nostalgia ….. penny ago ….. memories of a past Chorlton-cum-Hardy

These are pictures of our Lych Gate on the green.

1979

They were taken in the winter of 1979, although I am well prepared to accept a date in the early 1980s.

And looking at them again after a passage of 45 years is to be struck by how dilapidated and neglected it had become.

1979

Once the proud gift of Mr. and Mrs. Brooks who lived at Barlow Hall and who buried their children in the parish graveyard just 90 odd years later it was in a poor state.

There were holes in the panels above the entrance, and boards had been placed over part of the elegant woodwork in the tower while the brickwork looked tired.

It would be another 14 years before the roof of the tower had some tender care and attention, and a full 45 years before the whole structure was restored using materials sympathetic to the original.

The finished project has received a lot of praise, but as ever with those comments came the inevitable ones which suggested Chorlton was no long what it once was.

And … yes on one level it is not what it was.  

It would be naïve to think after almost half a century almost anywhere is going to be the same.

1980

But for some the logical extension is that it is not so good.

And that got me thinking about the Lych Gate which certainly does look better than it did in 1979, and in turn the parish graveyard which had become neglected with some of its 360 head stones in a poor state, with some in danger of toppling over and others the subject to mindless vandalism.

The upshot was that in the 1980s it had had a make over which created a peaceful place with benches, bushes and trees, which in the years since have matured.

The downside, and there was a downside to the makeover was the loss of of most of the headstones, which recorded the names of those who had been buried here since at least the 18th century.

Those inscriptions were indeed a real set of historical records which have now been lost, and despite perhaps the good intentions of the planners their removal was an act of vandalism.

And while we do have a record of the inscriptions made by City Works in 1975, they can no way compensate for the disappearance of the originals.

2023

That said the graveyard had become a sorry place. The church which the headstones surrounded had been closed in 1940 and demolished nine years later bringing to an end a history of worship which stretched back to the early 16th century and perhaps even earlier.  

And in turn the graveyard had been locked off and pretty much neglected by most people, save for the odd trespassing kids and those interested in the inscriptions.

All of which makes it a tad easy and historically lazy to mumble things were better then.

They were different but I am not so sure they were better.  

At 75, I can remember a time when I lived in houses without central heating where in winter ice formed on the inside of windows, and when much of what we take as standard medical care was still in the realms of science fiction.

And when the much-vaunted local grocer’s shops had little variety and sold produce which was often close to its sell by date, and for a six year old telly on the one channel finished early, with programmes interrupted because the service broke down.

There will be few today who remember the BBC’s offering of the “Potter’s Wheel” or “London to Brighton in Four Minutes” which went on for ever while a clever technician fitted the fault.

2024

Of course I suppose on those day I could have climbed over the wall into the parish graveyard and read the inscriptions on the headstones and wondered who had had the job of ringing the bell in the Lych Gate tower on New Year’s Eve.

But that is perhaps another story for another time.

Location; Chorlton Green

Pictures; the Lych Gate, 1979- 2024, from the collection of Andrew Simpson

The canal, some lost buildings and a moment from 1978

 This is Canal Street in 1978, and for me and those friends who went to the old College of Commerce it is  familiar scene.

Canal Street and the Rochdale Canal, 1978

Now the blog doesn’t do nostalgia, it is a pernicious and deceptive trick, where the sun always shone, Wagon Wheels were always big, and people left the doors unlocked.

The fact is that there was never  a perfect golden time, and if people did leave their doors unlocked it was simply because there was nothing in the house worth stealing.

The canal, 1955

That said, the picture does conjure up nostalgic memories.  By 1978, my student days at the College were six years in the past, I was gainfully employed, and still finding lots of time to wander the streets of the city, with a camera and heaps of historical curiosity.

But perhaps because I walked Canal Street so many times I don’t think I ever photographed the canal from this angle.

David Ward-naden did, and it is a perfect piece of history.  Beyond the bridge and to the right the buildings which fronted London Road and have long gone, as has the cark park of the college which was behind that white wall.

David reminded me that this has once been an arm of the Rochdale Canal which serviced a series of warehouses, one of which in the early 1970s was converted into the library of the college.

And that in turn led me back to a series of stories I did of that spot, and in particular of Back Canal Street and Little David Street which ran parallel to Camp Street.  

Only Little David Street still exists and it is now just an alley which at present id fenced off.  Back in the early 19th century the two streets which ran off Chorlton Street terminated at the edge of the canal arm.*

In 1841, 81 people lived in 22 of the 28 back to back properties which had been built as one up one downs at the beginning of the 19th century.

The area, 1955

Here lived a mix of families who earned their living as labourers, textile workers with the odd craftsmen.

The properties were swept away and replaced by a new commercial building, but as late as the 1950s, the canal arm was still in use, and the site was not cleared until the middle of the next decade when the College of Commerce was built.

That too has now gone, with the old tower block redeveloped for residential purposes, and a new block standing on the site of the old car park.

Such is the passage of time over 40 or so years.

Location; Manchester

Pictures; Canal Street and the Rochdale Calana, 1978, from the collection of David Ward-naden British Waterways narrow boats, proceeding to Hassall's Warehouse, Ducie Street, leaving Chorlton Street Lock, 1955, m54248, courtesy of Manchester Libraries, Information and Archives, Manchester City Council, http://images.manchester.gov.uk/index.php?session=pass

*Lost and forgotten streets of Manchester .... nu 64 Little David Street, a lost canal a cafe and a plan, https://chorltonhistory.blogspot.com/search?q=Little+David+Street

Miss Earlsome .... her romantic Valentine ..... and a fine row of houses ..... Oxford Street 1819

 I am a romantic and always have been, so the sight of a 19th century Valentine letter was all I needed to start a story.

That romantic poem, 1819

More so because the owner asked for my help in unravelling the mystery of an amorous poem sent to a Miss Earlsome of Goolden Place, Chorlton Row.

It belongs to Graham Borrill who asked “I hope you can help.  I have a beautiful hand painted Valentine’s letter and poem sent to a lady in Chorlton in the Regency period. 

Miss Earlsome of Gooldon Place, 1819

I’m trying to identify any connections I can from the name and address. The best I can see is a Miss Earlsome, Goolden Place, Chorlton. The postmark is a pre-paid mark for Manchester 13th Feb 18-9 (probably 1819)”.

Like many people Graham assumed that it was destined for Chorlton cum Hardy and back then Beech Road was indeed known as Chorlton Row.

But there was something in the place name of Goolden Place that rang a bell and knowing that Chorlton Row was also the earlier name for Chorlton on Medlock I took a trip down Oxford Street in 1849 and sure enough there it was, a row of terraced houses between Rosamund Street and Booth Street.

As for Miss Earlsome, alas she remains elusive, but I did find an Alexander Earlsome born about 1812 and buried on January 19th, 1829, in Ardwick which is very close to Chorlton on Medlock.

And for now, that is all I know, leaving me to explore that row of houses and the surrounding area.

X marks Goolden Place, 1849

By the early 18th century, Chorlton Row was seen as a desirable area to live away from the growing “busyness” of Manchester.

Goolden Place seems to fit into these new developments.  

It was situated on the eastern side of Oxford Street, just opposite and down from All Saints Church.

I rather think it dates from around 1819.  

They don’t appear on Greenwood’s 1818 map of Manchester but were there to receive Miss Earlsome’s romantic letter a year later.

Added to which  there is a record of the burial of George Frederick Chritcley on December 11th 1819 in St Luke’s Church, Chorlton on Medlock. He was 14 months old the child of James and Emma Chritchley and lived in Gooldon Place.

The Rate Books for 1822 show the seven properties were owned by a John Gooldon and I guess he built them and fourteen years later were acquired by his son Peter Gooldon.

Oxford Road, 1959

Gooldon junior continued the work of his father who had converted one of the properties into mixed retail and residential and in that year all seven are listed in the rate books as “house and shops”.

 

By 1863 we know something of the retail character because according to Slater’s street directory the occupants were listed as a fancy repository, manager, confectioner, draper, clerk, stay maker, iron monger, fruiterer and chemist

The block seems to have been demolished by 1912 to make way for the Grosvenor cinema which is still there on Oxford Road, and the corner of Grosvenor Road.

Waterloo Place, Oxford Road, 2025

So, while the residents and names of businesses appear on the 1911 street directory which was published in January by April when the census for that year was compiled none of them show up.

Some of the houses further south in the row may have survived and in 1929 the occupants include a milliner, chemist, gowns, and ladies’ hairdresser.

Either way all of these have vanished by 1954 when the street directory lists only the cinema and the business of C.R. Harrison and Soms who were Cinema Furnishers.

By the early 1970s, I remember the spot next to the cinema had been cleared and was waste ground.  

Today it is mostly occupied by Manchester Aquatics Centre.

I cannot find any photographs of Goolden Place, but the Library’s Digital Archive includes several rows of terraces from the period.  Only one block still stands which is Waterloo Place next to Manchester University.

Mr. John Gooldon's seven, 1822

There will be more and in the fulness of time I am convinced Miss Earlsome, will come out of the shadows after 2007 years.

For now I am content to record that Peter Gooldon was born around 1803, was a solicitor living in Rusholme, presided over the Quarter Sessions in the 1830s and had a vote based on property ownership.

Well it’s a start.

Location; Oxford Street, 1819

Pictures; Miss Earlsome’s romantic message 1819, courtesy of Graham Borrill, Goolden Place,  1849 from the OS map for Manchester and Salford, 1844, by kind permission of Digital Archives, http://www.digitalarchives.co.uk/, row of houses Oxford Road, 1958, courtesy of Manchester Libraries, Information and Archives, Manchester City Council, http://images.manchester.gov.uk/index.php?session=pass, and Waterloo Place, Oxford Road, 2026, courtesy of Google Maps

Beech Road on Jubilee day May 6 1935

What I like about this picture of Beech Road in May 1935 is that it wasn’t taken by a professional but by someone I know.

 Marjorie Holmes captured the day of the old King’s Jubilee on what looks like a bright spring day.




Picture; from the collection of Marjorie Holmes, 1935

Sandcastles and deck chairs beside the River Thames at the Tower of London

It is one of those odd things about growing old that you do begin to question your own memories.

I was telling a friend about building sandcastles beside the Thames in the shadow of Tower Bridge and because she was more than a little sceptical I did just begin to think that I had invented it.

But no I was right.  In 1934 1,500 barge loads of sand were deposited on the stretch of beach in front of the Tower.  It was such a success that during the first five years thousands flocked to sit on the sand beside the river.

By the 1950s when I too played there it was a little less attractive and you were likely to pull up some rather smelly things while building your sandcastles.

But it was still fun.

Sadly it closed in 1971 because it was thought the river was too polluted.

Now I have to say that this surprises me given that when I was growing up we were told that if you fell into the water it was an automatic stomach pump and a spell in hospital.

Twenty years earlier when the beach was opened children swam in the river, paddled in front of their parents and the only concern was if they got out of their depth.

All of which is a lead into the picture of the beech with the Tower behind it and a total absence of sand.

Location; London

Picture; The Tower from the River, from the series London Town and City, issued by Tuck & Sons, date unknown, courtesy of Tuck DB, http://tuckdb.org/

Stories of demolition part 2 ……. Manchester 1971

Sometimes you come across a picture which is not  just a record of an event, but offers up so much more.

So here we are with an unnamed building somewhere in the heart of the city going through the last stages of its demolition.

The fittings have gone, along with the doors and even some of the fire places, leaving it a precarious place for the demolition teams, who seem to thrive on the chaos, the smell of  dust, broken plaster, and the odd surprise.

Location; Manchester

Picture; demolition, 1971, courtesy of Manchester Libraries, Information and Archives, Manchester City Council, http://images.manchester.gov.uk/index.php?session=pass