Sunday 30 April 2023

The Lost Chorlton pictures ......... no 11. ......... the start of a trend?

It is easy to pass glib comments about the demise of the traditional shops in Chorlton and the rise of the bar culture.

And there will be those who make the point that as I wrote a history of Chorlton pubs and bars with Peter Topping I may be a little biased.

But not so.  Long before we published the Chorlton edition of Manchester Pubs- The Stories Behind The Doors, I had been writing about the emergence of the “night economy”.  The coming of online shopping, the giant supermarkets and the Arndale have pretty much done for that tradition retail model I grew up with.

I am sad to see it go but with its disappearance there was a real possibility that across the township there would just be lots of empty premises which could not be filled with charity shops or fast food outlets.

Nor is this a recent phenomenon as the picture testifies.

As early as 1983 shops were becoming vacant, in a trend which was to continue into the next two decades.

So the shop which was Booker’s the butchers was briefly the campaign headquarters of the SDP before becoming part of the bank, while next door what had once been Robinson’s the bakers, had been trading as Villains and in ’83 was a charity shop.

Of course all high streets are in a constant flux but around the 80s some would argue that here in Chorlton we were on the tipping point.

I await comment.

Location; Chorlton

Picture; Wilbraham Road, 1979 from the collection of Andrew Simpson

*A new book on the pubs and bars of Chorlton, https://chorltonhistory.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/A%20new%20book%20on%20the%20pubs%20and%20bars%20of%20Chorlton

What was lost is found ...... family stories from a war.

I never expected to see my uncle’s war medals again.

The medals, 2018
They were entrusted to me by my grandmother and long ago I thought I had lost them.

But they have turned up as part of our family history in the possession of our Jillian.

As I write I am looking at the four and what I had never realized before is that only two belonged to Uncle Roger leaving the other two a mystery.*

Now in my defence I was only something like 11 when Nana handed them over, which for me at least was too young to appreciate their significance.

At the time uncle Roger was a name, a handful of pictures and a cause for great sadness.

Nana never talked about him and mother never lost her anger at the decision to send him to the Far East when she believed the Government knew he would be captured.

Uncle Roger, 1938
He had observed the Manchester Blitz, travelled by convoy to South Africa, and then through the Suez Canal where he witnessed the Fall of Greece and after a short spell in Egypt and Iraq was shipped out to the Far East where he was captured by the Japanese and died in one of their prisoner of war camps.

It took me years to piece together the story of his life and the more I learnt, the more I felt uneasy at my negligence at losing the medals.

But what I thought was lost is no longer but has led to a family mystery.

Of the four medals, two are the 1939-45 War Medal, one is the Burma Star and the last is the France and Germany Star.

Of these I can be fairly confident that one of the 1939-45 medals and the Burma Star are his, but the other two will be someone else in the family.

Mother, 1941

Now mother served in the RAF and so I am guessing the other 1939-45 medal will have been awarded to her, but that just leaves the France and Germany Star.

The only relative to have served in France and Germany was my uncle Fergus but his medals will have stayed with his side of the family.

All of which makes for that mystery.

And as these things do, the story points up the fragility of family memorabilia.

What was cherished by one generation becomes just “stuff” for the next and within another few decades is lost or discarded.

Uncle Roger and mother circa 1939
So I am pleased that I have been reunited with the medals, more so because it fulfils the promise I made to Nana.

Leaving me only to reflect on another promise I made to her, which was never to have a tattoo.

And while three of our children have chosen to have tattoos, I have steadfastly refused, less because of what is entailed but simply because of that promise I made sixty years ago.


Location; 1938-45

Pictures; war medals, 1938-45 and pictures of Uncle Roger and mother, 1939-43, from the collection of Andrew Simpson


*Which just leaves the mystery of the ribbons.  Two belong to the War Medals, but the ribbon in RAF colours belongs to the 1939-45 Star which is missing from the collection

For the Friends of Oxford Road .......... part 2 ...... Studios One to a Million

Now, this is one of the pictures I took of a demonstration in the 1980s.

We are on Oxford Road heading towards the railway station, and bits of what you see have gone forever.

Ahead of us, the cream tiled building is now a 21st century hotel, while Studios One to a Million is a Dance Studio.

I say Studios One to a Million, but that does slightly over do the number of cinema screens but it  was a nick name we came to use for the place.

There will be many who remember the cinema as Studios 1 & 2, before its makeover and expansion into five screens.

It hosted late night movies, which began after the pubs closed and which therefore had an atmosphere a little different from matinees.

We saw Easy Rider there and more memorably, the cult horror film ..... Scream, Scream and Scream Again, which involved the harvesting of body parts from an  unwilling donor, and which every so often showed the said man minus another limb.

I doubt that today I would find it as riveting as I did back in 1971, but then I had had a large number of pints in the Red Lion before we paid our money over.

All of which just leaves me to point out that today opposite the former cinema is brand new building which has risen from what had once been the site of the BBC building, which was under construction when we did our late night picture visits. 

In between those two points, the site had become the BBC Building but that is a tale for another time.

Manchester Guardian, September 12 1930
At which point I have to confess to making a mistake which was pointed out by Gordon Howe.  I wrongly assumed the cinema had started with just one screen.  But Gordon commented, "I always believed that the cinema was originally built with two screens, because my Mum (who lived in Manchester from the 1920s to the late 1940s) always referred to it as the Regal Twins".

And a quick look at the wonderful site cinema Treasures revealed that it was "originally opened as the Twin Regal Kinemas on 20th September 1930. The cinemas, which had separate entrances and foyers, were on the second floor and shared a single projection room. Neither had a balcony and each seated 800.

Although it’s common place now, these two cinemas often presented the same film albeit at different times. Each had a barrel vaulted ceiling and elaborate Art Deco plasterwork down the side walls depicting folds of cloth.

In 1960, they were bought by the Star Cinemas group and renamed Romulus and Remus which lasted just two years before they became known as Studios 1 & 2.*

Never let a mistake get in the way of accuracy, so thank you Gordon and keep checking my stories!

Location; Oxford Road, sometime in the 1980s

Picture; Oxford Road, sometime in the 1980s, from the collection of Andrew Simpson.

*cinema Treasures, http://cinematreasures.org/theaters/2679

Who took the ball away from the 150 women’s football clubs in 1921 and why?

 The story of women’s football is quite correctly becoming better known and regaining a prominence it lost for nearly a century.

The growing popularity of the national women’s football team along with those in the Premier clubs and countless other teams across the country have highlighted the history, as well as the struggle of women to play “the beautiful game”.

The ban imposed by the Football Association in 1921 which lasted for a full half century and the sometimes-virulent prejudice directed against women players is now fully catalogued in articles, books and TV documentaries, along with a heap of online sites.  Even the FA now is happy to tell the story.

To these I can add an interesting “reappraisal examining the politics and social history behind” the FA ban.

It is written by Dr. Clare Debenham, Honorary Research Associate at the University of Manchester and takes the story back to 1881 and the founding of Mrs Graham’s Xl by Helen Matthews in Edinburgh.  

It assesses the contribution of Nettie Honeyball who founded the British Ladies Football Club thirteen years later and the importance of Lily Parr who was the first woman to be inducted into English Football’s Hall of Frame, as well as “Emma Clarke the first black woman footballer to be identified in the UK”.

But what I found more fascinating was Dr. Debenham’s account of the women’s game during the Great War and the immediate post war period.  In 1921 there were 150 women’s clubs often playing to capacity crowds, many of which were drawn from women working in factories.

Equally interesting is her suggestion that there might an explanation for the FA ban in the link between some of these teams drawn from working class women and the financial support they provided to miner’s charities during the strikes in 1921. “Money raised by women’s football was used to support local miner’s charities after their own strike funds were exhausted”.**

She goes on to review the reasons trotted out by the FA for the ban and contrasts this with the atmosphere in Britain by the 1970s towards women’s equality referenced by the 1975 Sex Discrimination Act.

It is one of those works which comes at the story from a different angle and acknowledges that some companies were fully supportive, like that of Lyons Corner House which provided a training ground and changing facilities in north London.  There were at least four Corner House teams including one from its main restaurant on the Strand.

And for those wanting to pursue the story there is a useful bibliography.

Picture; cover from The ban on organised women’s football in England by the Football Association, 2021

*The ban on organised women’s football in England by the Football Association in December 1921 and its restoration by them in July 1971.  A reappraisal examining the politics and social history behind these actions”, Clare Debenham, University of Manchester Honorary Research Associate, 2021, revised 2022

*ibid Debenham, page 13

Saturday 29 April 2023

The Lost Chorlton pictures ......... no 10. .........

Any discussion on which is the oldest retailer still in business will feature Etchells the newsagents.

Once the answer would have been Burt’s the Gentleman outfitters on Wilbraham Road which opened for business in the early 20th century, and followed by Richardson’s the bakers who started up on Beech Road in the late 1940s.

And while Etchell’s has a long pedigree, the title actually falls to Ken Foster’s Cycle shop on Barlow Moor Road.

That said the shop on the corner of Beech Road and Chequers has been a newsagents since it was built as has the chippy next door which is now a Chinese takeaway.

Location; Chorlton

Picture; Beech Road, 1979 from the collection of Andrew Simpson

A day out in Castlefield ……….. August 1980

The picture has sat for over 40 years in the collection in our cellar.


It will have been in early August and having followed the procession of vintage steam vehicles down to Castlefield I joined in the mix of people enjoying the day.

Location; Castlefield

Pictures; A day out in Castlefield, 1980, from the collection of Andrew Simpson


Friday 28 April 2023

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 Archiveshttp://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

The picture and the demonstration ....... October 1981

This is the story of one photograph from one demonstration.

The march was called to draw attention to the new generation of nuclear weapons and their delivery systems which were becoming operational at a time when relations between the two Super Powers were going through a turbulent period.

This one was held in the October of 1981 in Manchester and the route took the protesters from All Saints to Crown Square.

The lead banner is that of the Manchester City Labour Party, and quite a few people are carrying The “No to Cruise Missiles” placards.

I can’t now remember how many participated and given that the press at the time along with the Police tended to underestimate numbers I won’t bother trawling the records.

Suffice to say that looking at the collection of images I took on the day it was a big one.

Leaving that aside, and acknowledging that it is my picture, I do think this one captures the sense of what it was like to be on such a demonstration at that time.

And by extension pretty much what it would be like at any time.

What strikes you first is the range of ages, and while some of the youngest will have had little say in whether they were going to take part there are some teenagers present, who could have voted with their feet and gone elsewhere.

And even given the seriousness of the event someone has said something which has caused those closest to smile.

It is just the way that these things worked and often it would be the banter which lifted the spirits on a cold day which might also threaten rain.

This day seemed bright and warm and free from rain.

We are at a point in the march soon after the procession has set off and the paper sellers are conspicuous by their absence.

No doubt they were further back, near the beginning, hovering over those who were yet to set off.

And as yet there seems to be no shouted chant, which usually got the desired response, although just occasionally the shout would be ignored or got muddled in its execution, which led to a ripple of laughter down the line.

Looking carefully at the image I can name five individuals with certainty with an option on another five who I recognise but can’t call up their name.

But I remember we continued up Oxford Road and through St Peter’s Square into Piccadilly but after that I am unsure how we got to Crown Square, possibly down Market Street or Cannon Street, and then I am guessing along a bit of Deansgate.

Someone will remember.

Location; Manchester

Picture; Manchester Peace demonstration, 1981, from the collection of Andrew Simpson

When comic strips don’t get any better ……… The Perishers

For Lois and Uncle Michael, 1949-2003

 I first stumbled across the Perishers sometime around 1967 or 1968.


They featured in a comic strip in the Daily Mirror, and had first appeared in 1959.

The central five characters consisted of four children and a dog.

Wellington was an orphan boy who lived alone with his large dog, called Boot who was a generally affable and mellow character, given to flights of fancy and daydreaming. 


Marlon was  amiable but not very bright. 

Maisie appeared on the surface as the girl next door but was domineering and a bully, with a tendency to become violent if she didn't get her own way, with a scream that could stun woodworm. 

Baby Grumpling always  spoke  entirely in lower-case letters.*

On the scene occasionally came The Crabs, Plain Jane, who was a friend of Maisie’s, Fiscal Yere: a millionaire's son who always complained about the problems of being rich, and a wealth of other bizarre and funny kids and animals.


And as so often happens with long running comic strips there were a series of catch phrases, of "Go-faster stripes", "Need any help with that paper bag ?" and "Yeuk!!" have remained with me and often fall off my lips at the appropriate moment.

So "Go-faster stripes", were the additional features Wellington attached to the buggies he tried to sell to Marlon, while "Need any help with that paper bag ?" was Maisie’s opening words when ever anyone opened a bag of crisps, all the more annoying because she could detect the sound of the bag opening from incredible distances.


And lastly "Yeuk!!" was always Marlon’s response when Maisie attempted to kiss him.

And armed with these, and a few more catch phrases, our heroes encountered countless adventures, which appealed to a 17 year old, who also followed the Magic Roundabout.

The five followed me north from south east London to Manchester and were quickly embraced by my close friends, to the point where Lois was often seen as Maisie, and Mike as a brighter version of Marlon, and John as the savvy and technically minded Wellington.

All of which left me as Boot, a role I assumed with weary resignation, but which was not without an element of accuracy, given that I like Boot have always been prone to flights of fancy and daydreaming, which in Boot’s case included the conviction that he was in fact an 18th-century English lord enchanted into a dog.

The strip was created by Maurice Dodd, drawn  by Dennis Collins and later by Mr. Dodd and Bill Mevin.


Once I had a whole collection of Perisher’s books made up from the newspaper cartoon strip, alas many have not survived the passing years, although a few have sat gathering dust in a corner of the cellar, and this 1978, 21st edition is one of them.  

Helpfully it also offered up a biography of my five pals, reminding me that Boot’s response to many situations was “By the Lord Harry”, Marlon liked inch thick ketchup sandwiches which invariably burst out of the bread to cover anyone close by, Wellington had been named after his own footwear, Maisie first encountered Marlon because he was too slow to "even get out of the way of an on rushing tortoise” and Baby Grumpling who regularly helped himself to the Sunday collection at church explaining “Why do they keep handing it round if they don’t want you to take it?**


So that is about it, but as I close I am reminded that Uncle Michael would sometimes refer to one of my sons as Baby Grumpling, but my lips are sealed as to which of them he referred to.

Location the Daily Mirror

Pictures; the famous five from The Perishers No 21, Maurice Dodd & Dennis Collins, A Mirror Book, 1978

*The Perishers, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Perishers

** The Perishers No 21, Maurice Dodd & Dennis Collins, A Mirror Book, 1978

The Lost Adventure ......... the eight year old and the disused railway line

All I have left are some vague memories, but they have persisted with me for nearly sixty years, and I can’t shake them.

We will have been no more than ten and maybe younger, and as we all did in those days we roamed free over our bit of south east London.

It might be east towards Blackheath and Greenwich or out beyond Peckham into Dulwich.

Back then the extent of our adventures were governed by how far we could walk, although within a few years that had become the whole of London and beyond with the help of a Red Rover and Southern Region.

On this particular day we had come across a disused railway track which I think was somewhere around Nunhead, and the game was to walk along the stone parapet of the road bridge over the line.

I chose not to do the walk of chance, but we were all so close friends that no one thought the worse of me for declining.

For a while that disused railway track became our playground and we would walk along its bed, climb up the slope of the cutting and look for discarded treasure.

But time is cruel to such hidden hideaways and within a few months it was all but forgotten and we had moved on.  Partly I suspect because it was some distance from where we lived and in my case I was never quite sure how to get there on my own.

And anyway even a gang of lads in short trousers, dirty knees and torn jumpers, eventually tire of a long straight piece of ground.

Now sixty years on I have wondered where it was and so todayI roamed over google street maps, carefully scrutinized the OS map for 1872 but found nothing.  Neither did an online search for the disused railway lines of south east London prove any more fruitful.

Of course the line may well post date 1872 and it may now be lost under redevelopment.

Here in Manchester many of our old abandoned tracks have become the route for the new tram network.

But I won’t give up looking and next time I am home I might try and track that adventure of sixty years ago.

And within ten minutes of posting the story, Kathy Penney wrote to me, "Try at the top of Athenlay Road. As you turn left in to Merrtins Road there are the remnants of a stone bridge and if you take the next right it leads you in to Brenchley Gardens. I think the line there ran all the way up to Crystal Palace, but sadly was axed by Beeching. 

There was a time you could walk the route up to Crystal Palace but I think there are a few new developments in the way now.

I think if you look at the London, Chatham & Dover Railway or LCDR who established the Highline railway at Crystal Palace in, may have been the 1850's, you should be able to see the route it took. Good luck".

And this I will do!

Location; south east London

Picture, from the collection of Andrew Simpson

Thursday 27 April 2023

Emilie Bux..............a German bride in post war Derby in the summer of 1923

I remember my grandmother as a stiff, serious woman who rarely smiled and got cross at what she thought was frivolous spending.

Nana, date unknown
These are childhood memories and people I talk to remember her differently. To them she was a warm funny woman who was very intelligent.

But she had a lot to contend with. Emily née Bux Hall was born in Germany moved here in the years directly following the end of the First World War.

She came from a prosperous family, grew up in a large timbered house and settled in a two up two down terraced house on Hope Street in Derby.

She faced the prejudice of people who had suffered during the long years of war, lost loved ones and could not quite understand how my grandfather would want to marry a German.

All their frustrations and anger settled on my Nana, who had her washing smeared with mud. There were the mutterings behind her in the shops and perhaps worst of all there was the way they took it out on her children who had been born in Germany.

Nana and Uncle Roger, 1929
Mother was beaten with an ebony ruler across her knuckles for speaking German in school and my uncle was called names in the playground and constantly had to defend himself in the street. It upset both of them but also filled them with a desire to do well. In the case of Uncle Roger this led from Traffic Street School to a scholarship at the Bemrose School.

12 Hope Street was a traditional terraced house with two rooms downstairs and two up with a small lean to at the back, beyond which was a shared yard and the outside lavatories.

You stepped off the street into the front room. 

The fireplace was off to the left and on the same side on the far wall was the door to the kitchen. The staircase to the bedrooms was at the back of the kitchen. It was a steep and enclosed staircase and I remember it as very gloomy and a little scary.

Nana, 1934
During their thirty years or so living there my grandparents softened what was a simple and basic place. They personalized the yard adding flowers and herb borders, but it was a small area and was overshadowed by tall buildings at the back.

Nana also had to live with the knowledge that her own family back in Germany had not been happy at the marriage. But she was a woman of immense resilience and she bore this with a stoic determination to make the best of whatever life threw at her.

Nana and grandad, date unknown
Early in the marriage she had to make her own way from Germany to England with a newly born son and a two year old daughter. Grandfather was demobbed in Belfast in 1922 and there are no records to suggest the army brought her and the children home as well.

This would have been no easy journey involving a train to a German sea port, and after an arduous sea crossing, an equally long train trip in a foreign country with two little children. But she met the challenge.

She faced up to the long periods of my grandfather’s unemployment during the 1930s, when news of a job ten miles away had him walking to the site only to discover a long queue of men already patiently waiting for the chance of employment.

Mother and uncle Roger, 1938
Somewhere along the line, possibly after the second war, she managed to scrape together some capital, and either bought or rented a tiny corner shop.

I have no memory of the shop, or when she gave it up and nor do I now know exactly when she and granddad left Hope Street for a grand semi, in the village of Chellaston, and now there is no one left to ask.

Mother, 1942
No one who can fill in the gaps in my memory and the research I have done in the last decade.

But one abiding piece of knowledge is that for all the prejudice she faced in the communal backyard in Hope Street in the 1920s, she saw both mother and father serve in the RAF in the Second World War, and had to be reconciled to the death of her son in 1943, aged just 21 in an enemy Prisoner of War Camp.

Pictures; Emilie Bux circa 1918, with Roger Hall, 1929,  walking through Derby in 1934, in the backyard of 11 Hope Street, date unknown,  mother and uncle Roger, 1938, and mother, 1942, from the collection of Andrew Simpson

At Manchester Airport with Les Entremets et Canapes


Now I first flew in 1982 and I have to admit I was 33 which these days is I guess quite old.

But my dad was in his mid 60s and my mum and three of my sisters never took to the air.

So by the time I walked through the doors of Manchester airport it had become a big place and today is even bigger.

I was reminded of all of this when I came across a menu for the restaurant at the airport which I think dates from either the late 1950s or early 1960s.

And right away we are in a different era, for the whole thing is in French with of course an English translation. So the Les Entremets et Canapes [sweets and savouries] consisted of 21 dishes including Parfait Ringway [Vanilla and Strawberry Ice, Cherries, Chopped Nuts, Fruit salad], Campe aux Sardines [Sardines on toast] both at 3s 6d.

There was a Guide to Culinary terms and that invitation to elegant dining with the food “cooked beside your table” which included Tournedos Ringway at 10s 6d, Poulec a la Broche at 21s and Steak Tartar for 12s 0d

There was “VIN EN CARAFE, Rouge [red] at 10s 6d, or 5s 6d and Blanc, [white] for 10s 6d or 5s 6d”

Now I am fascinated by the firm who did the catering.  This was The House of Smallmans who were based in Rushholme and in 1962 at Heald Green, and will be worth a little research.

But in the mean time I shall close with some other images of the airport in the 1950s  ranging from the restaurant to the departure lounge.

Pictures; menu cover, courtesy of Jan Crowe, and airport pictures, Manchester Restaurant, m6219, and Manchester Lunge at Passenger Check in, m62618, 1953, Courtesy of Manchester Libraries, Information and Archives, Manchester City Council

Wednesday 26 April 2023

The uncomfortable side of steam travel ....... part one

Sometimes to quote that historian “the past comes back to bite you on the bum” and so it was when I uncovered a selection of pictures I took back in 1980 of steam locomotives.

And the images were not the bit that did the biting, it was the realization that I am old enough to have travelled on trains pulled by steam locomotives which were in regular service.

So not for me the trip on 3 miles of track lovingly restored by steam enthusiasts on a line that died under the direction of Dr Beeching.

No, these were main line expresses hurtling north to Derby and Manchester, which places my youth in the 1950s which to quote an equally imminent philosopher means that "I have fewer years ahead of me than behind".

But putting all of that to one side the pictures are of the Steam Exposition from 1980 .

And it was a day of fun.

Down at what is now the Science and Industry Museum a huge collection of people had gathered to watch, drive or ride on a variety of steam driven machines, from railway locomotives to steam  tractors with more than a few vintage cars and buses thrown in.

So here was the day.

And over the next few weeks a few more of the pictures will make their way on to the blog.

Location; Manchester




















Pictures; The Steam Exposition, 1980 from the collection of Andrew Simpson

Walking the northern boundary of Rent Meadow in the summer of 1848 …………

Now, it is always fascinating to take a spot you know well, and try and think it back to a time before now.

Looking out towards Chorlton Brook, 2020
So here we are on that footpath that stretches from Barlow Moor Road, down to Nell Lane, with the allotments and park on one side and those roads that run off Sandy Lane on the other.

It is an ancient footpath, and is clearly visible on the OS maps of the mid and late 19th century and shows up in the 1847 tithe map.

The western end ran alongside Lime Bank which was a fine looking house and dates from at least the late 18th century.  At this point the path was more a road, but as it made its way east down to Nell Lane it pretty much petered out becoming quite narrow.

Trees, and bushes, 2020

Walk it today heading towards Barlow Moor Lane, and you get glimpses of the bank of Chorlton Brook, with its dense vegetation and it is easy to think it was always such.

But not so, because back in the 1840s, the land from the path, on either side of the brook and stretching across what we now know as Chorlton Park was fields.

Rent Meadow, [1] and Lime Bank, [3], 1847
The biggest of the two was Rent Meadow which covered 4 acres and was farmed as meadow land.

Its neighbour was Lime Bank, consisting of just 1 acre and was given over to arable farming.

Had you stood on the footpath looking south towards the brook, there would have been a clear view, down to what is now Mauldeth Road West.

But bits of that scene would have been obscures by a belt of trees and bushes which followed the line of the water course.

Beech House, 1853
Both fields belonged to James Holt, who lived in Beech House.

His grounds covered all of the land from Beech Road to High Lane, and down from Barlow Moor Road, almost to Cross Road.

Added to this he owned 17 acres of prime agricultural land in the township.

But his money and that of his family had been made in town in a factory at the bottom of Deansgate, where he made the wooden engraving blocks for calico printing.

Such was his wealth that he also owned a considerable portfolio of properties around St John Street, including the only double fronted house on that street.

As befits a man who had “made it”, he retired early, moved to Chorlton-cum-Hardy, and settled in Beech Cottage which he  redeveloped into a grand property which he renamed Beech House.

The Holt's town house, 2010
His son continued to live in the city centre in St Johns Street, managing the business, and in the fullness of time followed his father and moved into Beech House.

Now, none of this is romantic conjecture, but based on maps of the 19th century, the Rate Books, Tithe schedule and a series of legal documents belonging to the Holt’s.

Together they offer up a detailed picture of the Hot’s business along with the lie of the land by our footpath.

I would love to know who worked Rent Meadow and Lime Bank, but alas that is lost to us.

But there are the odd little glimpses of who might have laboured there.

One such clue, comes in the form of of clay pipes found on the allotments.  It is just possible that they were refuse from night soil spread over the fields which had been bought in from Manchester.

A clay pipe, 2020
But I like to think they may have been discarded by an agricultural labourer on the edge of Rent Meadow sometime in the 19th century.

And as unhistorical as it might seem I would think that the resident of the house known as Lime Bank might have taken a stroll along the footpath on a summer’s evening.  He was a Charles Morton, but more of him another day.

Location; Chorlton-cum-Hardy

Pictures; Rent Meadow, 2020, the Holt's town house, 2010, and clay pipe, 2016, from the collection of Andrew Simpson, and in 1847, from the Tithe map, Beech Cottage in 1841, detail from the OS map of Lancashire, courtesy of Digital Archives, http://www.digitalarchives.co.uk/

Memories of Billingsgate Market, that fishy smell and the promise of the Tower

Now we are on the Lower Thames Street in 1927, and it didn’t look that different when I was regularly wandering along it in the late 1950s.

We usually got there around 10 on a Saturday by which time all the fish had been sold and apart from the odd porter there were just the men sweeping up.

That said there were still the odd bits of ice and discarded fish in the gutters and of course that all pervading smell of fish.

Had we been there a few hours earlier and the place would no doubt have been as busy as the scene in the picture postcard.

I always preferred walking down the Lower Road just because there was still so much more to see.

It started with the descent from the northern end of London Bridge down an impressive flight of stone stairs to street level and then the walk to the Tower of London.

This was one of those regular Saturday excursions which occupied most of the day and was pure magic.

Before you got inside the Tower there
were those smaller roads one of which of course had the Monument which was in  itself a pretty neat place to visit with what at the time had one of the best views across the City from its observational platform.

I can’t say I ever took much notice of St Magnus the Martyr which is clearly visible in the distance.

And now taking that route is to be amazed at the transformation of the road, but that along with Andrew’s stories of the Tower is for another time.

So I shall just close with a thank you to Mark Flynn who kindly lets the odd image from his postcard site and whose prices are very competitive.

Picture; Billingsgate Fish Market, 1927, courtesy of MARK FLYNN POSTCARDS, http://www.markfynn.com/index.html

An arch and a heap of gravestones .... April in Chorlton


Location; Chorlton Green

Picture; An arch and a heap of gravestones, 2023, from the collection of Andrew Simpson

Tuesday 25 April 2023

April 25th 1945, a day of liberation and now a national holiday


I am looking at a picture posted by an Italian friend on facebook of a man in a train compartment in the rush hour.

Nothing you might think odd about that except that he has a machine gun slung over his shoulder.  I missed it when I first came across the image and was drawn back by her comment and the date.

She wrote that she found “it fitting, [and] particularly laden with meaning,” because April 25th is a national holiday in Italy and marks both the end of what was left of Mussolini’s fascist state but also the end of the Nazi occupation of Italy on that day in 1945.

Senor Prigile, August 14th 1944
And so I guess the picture was a posed comment on the events of that day seventy five years ago.

I would like to have used it but in the absence of copyright details for the present it will just have to sit on facebook and what ever Italian news agency issued it.

In its place there is this picture of Senor Prigile, an Italian partisan in Florence taken on August 14th 1944.

British troops had been ordered to avoid fighting the Germans in the precincts of the city of Florence but Italian Partisans, occupying the Fortress Di Basso exchanged fire with the German snipers that remained after the German forces evacuated Florence.

Now like many of my generation I was brought up on a diet of national stereo types and given the close proximity of the war the crude picture of Italians was that all they ate was  pasta and were all to ready to surrender.

It was an image much hyped by the propaganda of the war years and ignored the many brave Italians who opposed the Fascists both before and after they came to power in 1922.

It also ignored those that against their will were conscripted into the armed forces, to fight first in Abyssinia and Greece and later in North Africa and on the Eastern Front.  Nor is much said about  those who were held in Soviet prisons long after the war and those who never returned.

This I hasten to add is in no way a defence of the fascist regime which so brutally eliminated parliamentary democracy in Italy and did nothing to prevent the exploitation of working people.

Rather it is recognition that there were many Italians who opposed Mussolini and resisted as best they could.  And some who risked their lives to protect allied prisoners of war who had escaped and were  on the run from the German Army.

Corso Giacomo Matteotti on an April afternoon
And I often think of that opposition when we are in the Corso Giacomo Matteotti which is one of my favourite parts of Varese.

Here you can find posh clothes outlets, elegant cafes and wonderful food shops ranging from the expensive bakery to ordinary fruit and veg shops a fishmonger and a butcher.

It is named after the socialist MP who denounced the fascists in the Italian Parliament for election bribery in 1924 and was murdered by them just 11 days later.

So I shall be talking to our Italian family later this evening and asking them how the holiday has gone.

And no sooner had I posted this story last year, than Barbarella sent me this wonderful story of her grandmother.

"I am the grandchild of partisans. My grandmother was a “staffetta”, which translate into relay. 

Liberation Day, April, 1945
She was relaying messages amongst partisan groups who were fighting and hiding in the hills around Bologna. My grandmother was called Albertina (I gave this name as a middle name to my daughter), she used to put messages inside the metal bar handles of her bicycle, then putting the handle bit on top. 

Transporting messages between groups and risking her life. Sometimes she used to have some freshly made pasta for them, when she could afford to make it.

Memorial to the Partisan, 2018

What I woman, I am so proud of her. Passed away in 2006, at the age of 94. It is such a powerful story."
of courage.

And this year Barbarello added a link to "Bella ciao", or "Goodbye beautiful"* which was originally an Italian protest song from the 19th century but my Wikipedia tells me "was modified  and adopted as an anthem for Italians resistance movement by the partisans who opposed fascism and the occupying German army.**


Location; Italy

Pictures; Corso Giacomo Matteotti from the collection of Andrew SimpsonSenor Prigile, August 14th, 1944. “This image was created and released by the Imperial War Museum on the IWM Non Commercial Licence. Photographs taken, or artworks created, by a member of the forces during their active service duties are covered by Crown Copyright provisions. Faithful reproductions may be reused under that licence, which is considered expired 50 years after their creation and is in the public domain, Wikipedia Commons.",  Liberation day, 1945, courtesy of Barbarello Bonvento, and war memorial to the Partisan, 2018, Intra, from the collection of Andrew Simpson