Lost Manchester Streets …. Nu 98 …… the one that never was

This is Sally’s Yard and it sounds like it should have been here for ever.

Or at least from when Hulme Street was cut sometime in the early 19^th century.

Near by there was Frank Street, Mary Street and James Leigh Street, and plenty more, all reminders of a time when speculative builders and developers threw up small properties to house a local population who worked in the surrounding mills, timber yards and metal works.

And with a sense of their own importance named them after themselves or close family members.

So having passed Sally’s Yard a few days ago I pondered on its origins and whether I could find Sally in her alley.

I had hoped for one of those narrow dismal streets occupied by small residential dwellings in the shadow of dark and grimy textile mills, but which courtesy of the census returns would offer up a heap of life stories and maybe even our Sally.

It was a forlorn hope, for moving back through the 20^th century into the middle decades of the century before our alley was just a passageway into an enclosed area which served as a storage spot for a tin works, and later a glass bottle merchants and “fancy box manufacturer”.

Of course, a Sally might have worked there but I don’t think we will ever find her.

And equally frustrating it appears the name Sally’s Yard may only date from 1995 when “Urban Splash completed their first ever transformation of an old Victorian Mill in Manchester, renovating Sally’s Yard on Hulme Street, just off Oxford Road”.*

Ah well history doesn’t always turn out the way you expect or want.

Location; Hulme Street

Picture; Sally’s Yard, 2026 from the collection of Andrew Simpson

*Manchester's newest New York style loft apartments - 25 years in the making...By Ben Brown, November 2020, 30th Manchester's Finest, https://www.manchestersfinest.com/news/manchesters-newest-new-york-style-loft-apartments-25-years-in-the-making/

When they stole the name of Little Stable Street

History has not been kind to Little Stable Street.

Looking down Salmon Street, 2023

First it stole its name some time in the 1870s and then relegated it to just a street which goes nowhere, and has had the added indignity heaped upon it of being left with only the backs of properties.

It was cut sometime between 1772 and 1793 and by the 1850s its eastern side was entirely taken up with commercial and industrial properties as was most of its western side.

Little Stables Street, 1850

Just one small stretch of the western side was occupied by some back-to-back houses and a passage way which gave access to a series of closed courts.

All of these were swept away in the 1870s to make way for the new Wholesale Fish Market, and it will have been around then that Little Stable Street became Salmon Street an act of rebranding which ranks as one of the least imaginative examples of town planning.

But long before then it had pretty much been ignored by the street directories who saw no merit in listing any of its occupants.

More recently Google Maps have invested time and a camera in recording the street.  The first visit was back in September 2012 which captured the name of George Makin and Sons Ltd at the far end of the street.

Spice Lounge, 2023

Two years later this had become the rear of Spice Lounge whose front faces out on to Shudehill at no.60. 

I can’t be sure just exactly when the restaurant opened but in the August of 2012 a sign announced its imminent opening replacing a branch of Costcutter.

In time I will go looking for George Makin and Sons Ltd and try to locate the residents of Little Stable Street in the middle decades of the 19th century, leaving me just with the red door and the mystery of what is behind it.

Back in 2012  it was the “New Union DVD and Video Shop” specializing amongst other things in  “Fantasy Adult Gifts”

Behind the red door, 2023

And now it is a red door and a mystery.

Location, Salmon Street, off Thomas Street

Pictures; Salmon Street, 2023, from the collection of Andrew Simpson, and Little Stable Street, 1850, courtesy of Digital Archives Association, http://www.digitalarchives.co.uk/

Of Waterloo sunsets, Peckham Rye and the Pleasuance at Well Hall

Now it is just one of those things that you miss where you grew up.

Coming home, 2013

It is such an obvious statement but is none the less true.

I left south east London in 1969 for Manchester unsure what was ahead of me but convinced that I would be back, but like most plans it never happened.

Manchester is where I ended up, got married bought a house and brought up four kids.

In my twenties I can’t say I missed London and I guess it wasn’t until quite recently, long after I qualified for a concessionary bus pass and reached an age to be rewarded with the being offered a seat on the tram that I began to think of home.

Well Hall, 2011

And home really only begins when the ferry docks or the  train pulls across the river into Waterloo and then I know I am back.

Another 20 or so minutes later and after the train has taken that curve I have arrived home in Eltham.

But then because we moved around, the train could quite easily have taken me to Queens Road or New Cross and because for a long time our Elizabeth lived in Plumstead and Woolwich there was that other set of railway stations.

My kids always know which special song to play for me and ever since I first heard Waterloo Sunset it has been my tune, with a special meaning given that Kay and I would meet every Friday night under that clock.

Ten years earlier Waterloo Station would be one of the destinations along with London Bridge which would be the start of an adventure.

Woolwich, 2015

For with 2/6d pocket money and aged just ten there were lots of places you could go for a modest return fare and still have change for a variety of sweets.

Sometimes you struck gold and on other occasions you ended up in a dreary back street beside a canal with grim tall buildings all around you.

But that didn’t matter because the fun was in the expectation of where you might go and once there roaming across the city in search of anything that looked interesting.

And there were the bombsites which were still pretty much in evidence all around us.  Most of the time there wasn’t much to discover, but once we found a gas mask still in its box with the green paint and black rubber looking brand new.

Woolwich, circa 1940s

And then there was the old bombed church of St Mary’s which was a place where with a shared candle  a group of you could wander through the crypt anticipating all sorts of horrors and finding only a damp and smelly mattress.

Some adventures turned out not so well, like the time me, Jimmy O’Donnel and John Cox having walked from Lausanne Road to Greenwich, took the wrong turning by the entrance to the foot tunnel and instead of standing on the sand in front of the Naval College we turned left walked amongst the barges and sank up to our ankles in oily Thames mud.

To this day I remain ashamed that I blamed the other two when mother interrogated me on arriving home.

Worse than the interrogation was the bath that followed which seemed to take hours and involved much scrubbing to remove the dried mud from me and even longer to make my shoes half decent.

Today those trips are less perilous but no less fun and often involve a brief visit to an old haunt like the Pleasaunce at Well Hall which is only a few minute’s walk from our old house.

Cambden Church, 1904

Of course I am well aware that the places of my youth have changed and as in the case of Woolwich pretty dramatically but I don’t subscribe to that throw away judgement that places I knew are “now rubbish”, they are just different and no doubt there would be those catapulted into the 21st century from 1900 who would mourn the passing of the “smoke hole” at Woolwich and wish there were two lanes of traffic forcing their way down Powis Street.

I suppose for those of us who leave it is always a bit odd to be confronted with the disappearance of all our childhood memories.

That said I never tire of Waterloo Sunset or arriving south over the river.

Location; south of the river

Pictures from the collection of Andrew Simpson, Scott MacDonald and Elizabeth and Collin Fitzpatrick and Steve Bardrick, Camden Church Peckham Road, circa 1904, Albert Flint Photographer and Publisher, 68 Church Street, Camberwell in the series Camberwell, marked by Tuck and Sons, and reproduced courtesy of Tuck DB, https://tuckdb.org/

A lost bridge across the Brook

Now I think it is time for a walk across the meadows in search of Mosley Bridge.

It was a small bridge over the Brook put up by Charles Walker and later washed away.  Charles Walker was the son of Thomas Walker, the radical, and lived at Longford Hall and the bridge connected his land on either side of the brook.

In the 1830s it was destroyed by a flood, and a new one was built where the brook joins the Mersey which makes it easy to find.  It’s there on the old tithe map of 1845 and looks to be roughly where the bridge is today.

But I am not sure that this is our bridge.  Over the last fifty years the banks and the land on either side of where the brook runs into the Mersey have been raised a number of times but from memory the masonry looks old.  And a bridge does show up on the right spot not only the tithe map of 1845 but on the earlier OS for 1841 and the later OS of 1888-93.

So far I have not come across any old photographs of the bridge but there is a painting made by J Montgomery in 1963 looking east along the line of the Brook.  Stand on that exact spot today and to the south there is a dense collection of bushes and small trees which were entirely missing when Montgomery recorded the scene.

But neither his or the modern view are how it was.  Back in the 1840s, to the south of the Brook on what was Charles Walker’s land were water meadows, while away to our left just beyond the field was Walker’s orchard.

Now before I take a walk down to the spot I should really ask my old botanist pal David Bishop whose knowledge of the place goes back to the 1970s and whose blog at http://friendsofchorltonmeadows.blogspot.co.uk/ is a wonderful collection of information about the land and the plant life along this stretch of the Mersey on the edge of our township.

Picture; Courtesy of Manchester Libraries, Information and Archives, Manchester City Council, Junction of Gore Brook [Chorlton Brook] and the River Mersey, J Montgomery 1963, m80140

Lost and forgotten streets of Manchester nu 43 ..... the three that became two

Now anyone who knows the Salisbury will have passed James Leigh Street and its companion Cayley Street.

James Leigh Street, 2016

And I guess shed loads of commuters will pass by the two on their way up the stairs to Oxford Road Station but probably don’t give either street a second glance.

And that is a shame.

They are best approached by dropping down the slope from Oxford Road into the hollow where the Salisbury stands.

In total there were three of these narrow streets consisting of James Leigh Street, Cayley Street and Mary Street, which took in 28 small back to back properties.

And while the back to backs have long gone, the names of the people who built the houses are still there. So James Leigh, and perhaps his wife or daughter Mary left their mark as did Mr William and Mr Frank just round the corner in the streets they built.

The three streets in 1849

Usually when a name like James Leigh or Frank turn up as a street name there is more than a chance that they had a hand in either cutting the road or theirs were the properties that fronted it.

So as you do I went looking for Mr James Leigh in the Manchester Rate books and came up with a lot.

Now I can be fairly certain that the three roads post date 1819 and were there by 1849, but even so that 30 years yields up a fair few property owners called Leigh, so it will be a tedious process of elimination.

But it’s a start.

Of the three only James Leigh still exists as a place you can visit.  Cayley Street is now hidden behind a stout brown gate and Mary Street has vanished altogether.

So I shall finish with a look at the Salisbury which was originally the Tulloghgorum Tavern, a name it retained till 1895 when it became the Salisbury.

The origin of its name is obscure but there is a Scottish poem and Highland reel with the same name, and I am reliably informed that in Gaelic the word is variously spelled - Tullochgorm, Tulloch Gorm, Tulloch Gorum, Tulach Gorm. Tulach or tulloch and means a hill, hillock, knoll while Gorm is Gaelic for blue, green, or blue-green, so the meaning of the two words could be translated "blue-green hills."

All of which is way beyond me, although it is worth noting that the name of the Lass O’ Gowrie just across Oxford Street also has a Scottish connection.

I had for a while wondered about the a possible connection to Little Ireland which was just round the corner but if I have read Johnson’s map of 1819 the pub may already have been there before the that slum was aid out.

Cayley Street, 2016

Of course the license records might help but in the meantime I shall just say with certainty that the change of name is linked to the Conservative leader Lord Salisbury who formed a government in 1895.

By then most of the mean little streets had gone, cleared away by the railway company, and industry.

But it is still possible to get a sense of what it might have been like a century and a half ago.

Dop down from Oxford Street into that hollow and then as now the place is dominated by the tall railway viaduct and two of those narrow streets.

And while the back to backs have long gone, and Little Ireland is just a page in a history book at least the names of the people who built the houses are still there.

Location; Manchester

Pictures; James Leigh Street and Cayley Street, 2016 from the collection of Andrew Simpson and the surrounding area in 1849, from the OS map of Manchester & Salford, courtesy of Digital Archives Association, http://www.digitalarchives.co.uk/

A bit of the “other side” of London life in 1851 ................. stories from Henry Mayhew

"Of the thousand millions of human beings that are said to constitute  the population of the entire globe, there are – socially, morally, and perhaps even physically considered – two distinct and broadly marked races  viz., the wanders and the settlers-the vagabonds and the citizen – the nomadic and the civilized tribes.”*

Detail of a Costermonger

And with that Henry Mayhew plunges you in to the London of 1851.

The original accounts appeared first as articles in the London daily press, were then published under the title London Labour & the London Poor in 1851.

And just over a century later my edition of Mayhew’s London was issued, bought by mum and long ago passed to me.

Here are descriptions of what he called the “Street Folk” ranging from the “life of a Coster-lad," "the Dredgers or “River Finders” and the “Bird Catchers.”

Along the way there are detailed descriptions of the area like the London Street Markets, the language of the Coster mongers and much else.

So armed with Mr Mayhew’s guide I would happily have been able to know that “Flatch” was a halfpenny “Cool the esclop” meant “Look at the police” and if I was told the beer house was “Kenneteeno” it would have been stinking while the chap in the corner who was “Flach Kanurd” would have been drunk.

The Kitchen Fox Court Gray's Inn-Lane

What makes the book just that bit more fascinating is that it came out in the year 1851 which means that it is possible to crawl over the detailed census records matching his descriptions with the streets, courts and “dark places” that made up this bit of London.

If I am honest I have neglected Mr Mayhew over the years, spending my time on the equally unforgiving streets of Little Ireland, Deansgate and Angel Meadow in Manchester.

But with long summer days ahead, I rather think I shall leave the computer and sit in the garden with this slice of mid 19th century life form the city where I was born.

That said my edition according to the editors “has been designed for the convenience of the general reading public [and much] interesting material including all the longer passages has been sacrificed.”  
And that has meant the “contents of the entire fourth volume on prostitutes, thieves, swindlers and beggars have been omitted in entirety.”

Ah well you can’t have everything. Although just last week that has been sorted as our Saul has got me the full edition.

Location, London 1851

Pictures; the Kitchen Fox Court Gray’s-Inn- Lane and the London Costermonger, from London Labour & the London Poor 1851

*Henry Mayhew, Introduction, London Labour & the London Poor 1851,

Gaze upon this tarry thing ... all you in Chorlton who want to be nostalgic

Now I am never one to stop a good story, and remain fully aware that out there, some remain nostalgic about stone setts which were once a common form of road surface.

The Beech Road sett, late 19th century

So here is one of mine. I cannot now reveal how I came to acquire it, suffice to say that once a very long time ago when Beech Road was going through an earlier tar experience, this one was about to be thrown away.

I asked if I could have it as a relic of that old Chorlton and I was given two.

It will date from I suppose the late 19th century but maybe from the 1900s.

I just don’t know.

Of course some will know and there will a minute either in the records of the old Withington UDC or Manchester Corporation, but I am not going to look.

It sits in a special place beside two handmade bricks, one dating from the late 18th century which was part of a one up one down back to back house on Miller Street and the other from that grand property which once stood on Beech Road beside Acres Road which some will still call Acres Crack.

Longford Road, circa 1900

I have to admit that the old tin potty also from Miller Street was refused entry by the family, which I suspect was for the best.

Location; Chorlton

Pictures; a Chorlton stone sett from the collection of Andrew Simpson and Longford Road circa 1900 from the Lloyd Collection