Waiting for the tally man

There is always a tally man.

The name may change, and so to the description of the business.

We knew it as “tally” but others will remember it as “the never never” or “HP” and today it’s simply  “credit.”

But the process was pretty much the same and consisted of the opportunity to buy goods in advance of the full payment up front.

Now I am not being sniffy about this.

For my family and for many others if we wanted to share in that new consumer boom of the 1950s and 60s, we pretty much were forced into putting down the deposit and paying monthly.

In our case it was a chap with a van who came round each week collected a small regular payment, brought back the shiny catalogue and if mother had decided on something he would bring it out of the said van.

I have completely forgotten the chap’s name which might have been Terry and until recently I had also forgotten the name of the firm which was John Blundell Ltd, but also seems to have traded as Edward Evans and maybe also the Hartlepools Mutual Trading Company Ltd.

But as you do in going through some old family stuff there, dating back to the 1960s were the payment cards.

There are no dates on any of the cards, but we were round 116 and our payment day was “day 6” which I suppose was a Friday and was always in the evening.

The weekly sums paid back range from 4 shillings up to a £1 and mother never seemed to miss a payment which given that a £ in 1964 was still a substantial amount of money was a serious commitment.

I have no idea when it began but Terry or his name sake was already a feature of the weekly routine in the late 1950s when were still in Lausanne Road and carried on when we moved to Well Hall.

From memory Dad always paid on the nail for the big domestic items like the washing machine, telly, and wireless and so the tally man was there for those items of clothes, bedding and shoes.

And these were always in demand given that there were five of us all at school.

The down side of the system was that it was no cheaper than credit today.

So the “Terms” on the card announce that “5p per week for every £1 in value or as arranged, Payments may be used as a deposit on a later purchase [and] Special terms arranged for Furniture and Cycles.”

Added to which of course many of the clothes items may well have been almost worn out before mother had finished paying for them.

But that was the price you paid, and while some more virtuous than me will mutter “we always saved up for and then bought” I have to point out that there was and still is not an option for many.
Not that this is a rant, or a reflection on the power of consumerism, just a reflection on how we lived prompted by the discovery of some old credit card payment books.

Location; Eltham, New Cross, Peckham and pretty much everywhere.

Pictures; tally Payments Cards circa 1964, from the collection of Andrew Simpson

The Glue Man, three young people and a fascinating insight into the Britain of 1943

Now the thing about old films is that long after their contemporary appeal has faded they become a piece of history.

It starts with the the clothes, the cars and the buildings and moves on to the assumptions, prejudices and attitudes of the people portrayed along with its period comment on the events of the time.

So it is with A Canterbury Tale, made in 1944 by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger.

The film is loosely based around the Canterbury Tales and involves three very different people all with their own unique and powerful stories who come together in a Kent village just outside Canterbury in the summer of 1943.

The three consist of a British sergeant an America sergeant and a Land Girl who are thrown together by the mystery of the Glue Man.

The events last only a few days but in the course of those three days we get to see how these young people from different places and different walks of life work together to solve the mystery and come to a closer understanding what they have in common.

Now given that the film was made in 1944 it is pretty easy to see the motivation that drives the plot and that of course is part of its value today.

The threat of a common enemy in the form of the Glue Man unites the three and along the way we get to know more about their own lives which have been put on hold by the war.

And as the plot unfolds the film offers some wonderful scenes of Kent over 70 years ago, from the bombed out houses on streets in Canterbury to rural scenes in the fictitious village of Chillingbourne.

These are themselves a priceless record of a past which no longer exists.  The hay waggon loaded high with a land girl sitting on top, the old men outside the pub and the carpenter talking about when to lay down timber for the future are scenes of a rural way of life which seem timeless but has pretty much vanished..

And of course that is one of the messages of the film that here is a way of life unchanged for centuries which is at the very heart of what we were fighting for.

Added to which it provided an opportunity to show just what we had in common with the United States as the that young American talks to a carpenter and finds out that he lays down timber for the future in exactly the same way as in America.

And as you would expect of a film with an eye to its propaganda value, all three receive good news.

The Land Girl discovers her boyfriend who was shot down has survived and that his father no longer opposes them getting married, our American gets news that his girlfriend is serving with the Women’s Army Corps in Australia and the British sergeant gets to play the organ in Canterbury Cathedral.

All of which in itself echoes those themes of the People’s War which pitched people out of their ordinary lives and threw them new challenges and in the process showed how the country was united in its determination to win.

And that is all I want to say, if you want more the film is available and as well as being a good tale is real history lesson.

Of course there are a shed load of equally interesting films from the period which no doubt I will return to.

Pictures; cover from A Canterbury Tale, and Canterbury in 2009 from the collection of Andrew Simpson

So why did the Jacobite’s have the best songs?

Now for those who don’t know, the Jacobite cause was the forlorn attempt  to restore the Stuart royal family to the throne.

And in the process do away with the Hanoverian’s who had assumed the throne in 1714.

There had been two attempts by the Jacobite’s to achieve this reassertion of ownership in 1715 and again in 1745.

The first involved James Francis Edward Stuart, referred to by some as the Old Pretender, and the second by Charles Edward Stuart, variously known as the Young Pretender, or Bonnie Prince Charlie.

Now I was brought up on the romance of Bonnie Prince Charlie, and the last Jacobite attempt to regain the throne for the Stuarts, which isn’t surprising since our family only crossed the border into England at the start of the last century, and ours was a long journey south from the east Highlands.

So, I grew up with songs of that Jacobite rebellion, from those chronicling the brave Highland clans to the lament at the defeat at Culloden, and the departure of the Young Pretender.*

They still make wonderful listening but hide the reality of the savage aftermath of the last battle, the feudal nature of the Highlands and the betrayal of the cause by the Prince himself who left the Jacobite’s to their fate and died in Rome in 1788.

And of course, you have to question the whole escapade which was designed to substitute one dynasty for another, but was bound up with the dominance of England and the Lowland Scots, and today by the renewed interest in Scottish independence set against the huge chasm which is Brexit.

But those songs still resonate today, while the anti Jacobite ones have faded from popular culture.

So why is this? 

I suppose because the Jacobite cause was lost, and the repression that followed was so savage that there is that nostalgic lament for what might have been tied up by the romantic image of Bonnie Prince Charlie, which was then worked on in the 19th century when the Jacobites were no longer a threat and so it became “safe” to treat them as that romantic and lost cause, which has been sustained by an appeal to Scottish nationalism.

Added to which the tunes are very good and made better by the addition in some cases of the pipes.

That said not all of them date from 1745, or the immediate after years.

I listen regularly to a slew of Jacobite songs, but confess to only humming along to one anti Jacobite son which is the "Ye Jacobites by Name", which attacked the Jacobites  but was rewritten by Robert Burns  around 1791 giving a version with a more general, humanist anti-war, but nonetheless anti-Jacobite outlook.

So that is it …… answers on a postcard care of Rome.***

Pictures; "Gentlemen he cried, drawing his sword, I have thrown away the scabbard", from Scotland's story: a history of Scotland for boys and girls, Marshall, H. E. 1907, Manchester in the 18th century, from Shaw William, Manchester Old and New, 1894, and The Battle of Culloden, David Morier, 1746

*Jacobite Songs by the Corries, https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAEA7D750B5002C1F

**Lasting resting place of Bonnie Prince Charlie who escaped Scotland ...unlike most of his Jacobite supporters who ended up in the West Indies as indentured labour.

And the footnote, "The Acts of Union (Scottish Gaelic: Achd an Aonaidh) were two Acts of Parliament: the Union with Scotland Act 1706 passed by the Parliament of England, and the Union with England Act passed in 1707 by the Parliament of Scotland. 

They put into effect the terms of the Treaty of Union that had been agreed on 22 July 1706, following negotiation between commissioners representing the parliaments of the two countries. By the two Acts, the Kingdom of England and the Kingdom of Scotland—which at the time were separate states with separate legislatures, but with the same monarch—were, in the words of the Treaty, "United into One Kingdom by the Name of Great Britain"

Acts of Union, 1707, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acts_of_Union_1707

Never throw away the negatives ....... part 4 ....the school ..... Derby Street

Of the collection of pictures I rediscovered of the streets off Cheetham Hill Road, this proved the most elusive to identify.

I remember our guide saying it had been a school and over the years I took it to be one of the Municipal Board Schools.

I had no name and wasn’t even sure whether it was on Derby Street, Bent Street or Empire Street.

To be fair the trip had been over thirty years ago, and I lost the notes and the original prints a long time ago.

But then in response to the Talmud Torah story, Michael identified it as a school on Derby Street because his mum had gone there.

From that, it was a skip and a jump to the directories where the school was listed in 1911, as the Jews School. The previous year it had space for 2,029 students and the average attendance was 668 boys, 625 girls and 581 infants.

According to the Local History Library the school was established on Derby Street “in 1869 and known as the Manchester Jews’ School [having] started off as Manchester Hebrew Association founded for religious classes in 1838 and by 1842 was established as a  school at Halliwell St., Cheetham, moving to Cheetham Hill Road in Spring 1851. 

From 1941to 1959 it shared a building with the Infants and Junior Departments of Waterloo Road, Cheetham. The school moved to Crumpsall and opened as King David High School, Crumpsall in 1959”.

The library holds a large number of records from the school including  admission registers, log books, stock books and teacher record books along with information on refugees, 1940-44, staff registers and visitors books, some of which are also available from Findmypast.

And for those who want more, Anthea Darling has posted, "Building designed by Edward Salomons, architect of what is now the Jewish Museum. Opened 1869 for 700 children, replacing earlier building in Halliwell Street. For more info go to Manchester Jews School Derby Street Cheetham.** Forgot to say it was demolished in 2012".

Location; Derby  Street, Manchester

Picture; The Jews School, 1986, from the collection of Andrew Simpson

* Records of the Manchester Jewish Community, 2015, Manchester Central Library,www.manchester.gov.uk/download/.../id/.../jewish_community_archives_guide.pdf

**Manchester Jews School Derby Street, Cheetham, https://www.manchestervictorianarchitects.org.uk/buildings/manchester-jews-school-derby-street-cheetham?fbclid=IwAR2h6y5XyS-Ysi1olWUbf7qj8pXO2dH9A3YwRH16cP1jhNfgVgvkN10cCss

Hidden things on the Piazza Dante …. that film Blow Up ….. and a bit of Charlton

It’s odd how sometimes a picture offers up something you lost first time round.

Hidden things, Lugano, 2018

So, six years ago in Lugano I came across one of those fashionable shops in a very fashionable bit of the town selling the objects that only the rich will buy to casually dot around their apartments.

We were on a day trip from Varese in Italy and had taken the train across the border into Switzerland, and while the family shopped till they dropped in swish departmental stores I wandered the streets snapping away.

And on Piazza Dante I came across the shop and attracted by the door way I took the picture, which then sat with a heap of others and was forgotten.

Yesterday I came across the collection and as you do looked again at the picture of the shop and discovered the rather odd looking head which my friend Lois described as “creepy”.

Now the discovery was no “Blow Up” moment, that film from 1966 by Michelangelo Antonioni when a fashion photographer thinks he has unwittingly captured a murder on film during a photo shoot.

"Creepy" things on the Piazza Dante, Lugano, 2018

He only makes the discovery in the darkroom while processing the film and in the processing enlarging the image, which of courses offers up the film’s title “Blow Up”.

Not that my creepy head is in anyway as dramatic, but it points to what we see and don’t see in pictures we take.

Enjoying the joke, 2018

So on Saturday having taken the picture of the Arndale entrance in all its tall majesty with its neon signage I spotted the two women enjoying a joke.

And they became by far the most interesting subjects, leaving me to crop out the the tall entrance but leave a few of the passers by.

Nor is that all because going back and watching the film again over 50 years later I realized the park was Maryon Park in Chorlton close to where I grew up in Eltham.

Despite the close proximity it was a park I never visited which is a shame given that my Wikipedia tells me that the  area was was a collection of sand pits known as “Hanging Wood, and were presented to the London County Council in 1891 by the Maryon-Wilson family, and one of the pits became Maryon Park. 

Another pit became Charlton Athletic's football ground, The Valley.

The park was originally wooded and, together with what is now Maryon Wilson Park, was known as Hanging Woods. This was a wild wooded area and formed an ideal retreat for highwaymen who robbed travellers on Shooters Hill and Blackheath. 

Though it is popularly supposed that the wood was used for hanging those who were caught, a more likely explanation for the name is the wood's location on steep slopes so that the trees appear to hang from the slope. 

Maryon Park, Charlton, date unknown

Such woods are often referred to as 'hanging woods' the word 'hang' comes from the Old English 'hangra', a wooded slope).

The park was opened in 1891, with JJ Sexby, then chief surveyor to LCC's parks department, designing serpentine paths around the slopes of the hill".

 All of which was unknown to me and continuing the theme I could say its story had been hidden to me, but that would be a tortuous and perhaps contrived link from the original discovery from Lugano, so I won’t.

But l may have got confused with the street name which offers up more chances to play the hidden card.

Location; Lugano, and Charlton

Pictures; that shop in Lugano 2018 and  Maryon Park, Charlton, date unknown from the collection of Kristina Bedford and reproduced in Woolwich Through Time, Kristina Bedford, 2014

*Maryon Park, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maryon_Park

Of rebellion, romance and Chorlton’s part in the march of the Young Pretender

Now I was brought up on the romance of Bonnie Prince Charlie, and the last Jacobite attempt to regain the throne for the Stuarts, which  isn’t surprising since our  family only crossed the border into England at the turn of the last century, and ours was a long journey south from the east Highlands.

"............ I have thrown away the scabbard"

Added to which uncle George always insisted we were part of the Clan Frazer.

So, I grew up with songs of that Jacobite rebellion, from those chronicling the brave Highland clans to the lament at the defeat at Culloden, and the departure of the Young Pretender.

They still make wonderful listening, but hide the reality of the savage aftermath of the last battle, the feudal nature of the Highlands and the betrayal of the cause by the Prince himself who left the Jacobite’s to their fate and died in Rome in 1788.

The Highlanders, 1746

And of course, you have to question the whole escapade which was designed to substitute one dynasty for another, but was bound up with the dominance of England and the Lowland Scots, and today by the renewed interest in Scottish independence set against the huge chasm which is Brexit.*

All of which means I only gave scant interest to the presence of the Jacobite army here in Chorlton,

And it was only after a discussion with Victoria at Chorlton book shop last week, that I began to ponder on a story.

The route of the Highland army south is well known.  It crossed the border into England on November 8th and arrived in Manchester on the 31st, where “several gentlemen and about 200 or 300 of the common people joined the rebel army, [forming] a separate body which was called the Manchester Regiment, commanded by Colonel Francis Townley, a gentlemen of good family in Lancashire, and a Roman Catholic”.**

Manchester in the 18th century

There is a slight discrepancy in accounts of just when the army arrived and left, with another source recording the entry of the vanguard into the city on November 28th, with  “the main body under the command of Prince Charles Edward Stuart, (the young Pretender) …at about ten o’clock on the morning of November 29th”.***

Either way Manchester and its neighbour Salford, were split over how to react, with some having contributed to a subscription of £1,966 to pay for a troop of soldiers to fight the Jacobite's, and others celebrating the impending arrival of the Highland army.

And it was in Salford, that The Prince’s father was declared James III, followed by public illuminations.

The army remained for two days before setting off for a crossing of the Mersey, which may have been achieved at several points from Didsbury, to the temporarily repaired Crossford Bridge at Stretford.

The Royalist army, 1746

And there is evidence that one unit was here in Chorlton.  Some of this is circumstantial, like the speculation that there was an encampment on the slight rise of land around High Lane, which shows up on maps of the mid-19th century as Scots Hill. But there are also accounts from from several local historians including our own Thomas Ellwood, that Hough End Clough was used by locals as a hiding place for their horses.

The same Thomas Ellwood referred to regular meetings of a Jacobite club in what is now Jackson’s Boat, which included a toast to the “King over the water”. ****

I doubt we will ever know how many in Chorlton and the surrounding townships were supporters of the Pretender’s cause, but there must have been a few, give the numbers in Manchester.

The Battle of Culloden, 1746

And I think we can be fairly confident that some of the army they supported passed through.

All of which is nice, interesting, and a bit twee, but doesn't quite prepare for the final out come at Culloden, the brutal reprisals in the immediate aftermath of the battle or the equally savage repression in the years after that.

The impact of which was reflected in the comments of my uncle, who while he spoke fondly of the young Bonnie Prince Charlie, would also refer to "Butcher Cumberland", the commander of the Royalist forces.

Location; Chorlton, and Culloden

Pictures; "Gentlemen he cried, drawing his sword, I have thrown away the scabbard", from Scotland's story: a history of Scotland for boys and girls, Marshall, H. E. 1907, Manchester in the 18th century, from Shaw William, Manchester Old and New, 1894, and The Battle of Culloden,
David Morier, 1746

*That said recent research has shown that the Highland army,included, Lowland regiments such as Lord Elcho's and Balmerino's Life Guards, Baggot's Hussars and Viscount Strathallan's Perthshire Horse as "Highland Horse" along with the English Manchester Regiment, and French and Irish regulars.   Aikman, Christian, No Quarter Given: The Muster Roll of Prince Charles Edward Stuart's Army, 1745–46, 2001

**Home, John, The History of the Rebellion in Scotland in 1745, 1822, page 105

***Axon, William, The Annals of Manchester, 1885 page 84

****Ellwood, Thomas, Chapter XX111, Inns April 17th, 1886 from History of Chorlton-cum-Hardy

Never throw away the negatives ....... part 3 .... The Manchester Ice Palace ..... Derby Street

Now when I stumbled across the negatives of a set of photographs I took in the mid 1980s I was quite pleased with myself.

The former Manchester Ice Palace, 1986

None of the prints of that day have survived, and nor have the research notes, so these half dozen negatives were a find.

I am the first to admit that the quality is iffy and they wouldn’t win the Robert Capa Award for best pictures of 1986 but they were taken as part of a research project in to Jewish Manchester.

That said they are a moment in time, and some of the buildings have now vanished and others look very different.

The former Manchester Ice Palace, 2015

But not so the Manchester Ice Palace on Derby Street which is still there and comparing my picture from 1986 with Andy Robertson’s of 2015 the building is looking better.

Those in the know will recognise this as one of those then and now sets of pictures, which is something I don't normally do and when I do I add a story.

But the Palace has been well written about so I won't this time.
That said I bet there are plenty of people with fond memories of the place.

Location; Manchester

Pictures; Manchester Ice Palace, 1986, from the collection of Andrew Simpson, and in 2015 from the collection of Andy Robertson.

As others see us ......... Well Hall in the summer of 1966 by Ian Nairn

The thing about guide books is that they date so quickly.  

But that can be what makes them so intriguing and that pretty much sums up Nairn’s London.*

It was published in 1966 and I picked up my copy over 20 years later from Bryan the Book.

And that is a tale in itself given that Bryan’s bookshop on Beech Road in Chorlton-cum-Hardy is 214 miles from Well Hall where I grew up.

Nor is that all for the original cover price was eight shillings and sixpence and I bought it for 40p.

The publisher warned that “some of the entries are already disappearing; so go and see the rest quickly.”

That said it is reassuring that the places in Well Hall and Eltham visited by Mr Nairn are still there, although not all are described in that fulsome and respective manner of most guide books

So in writing about Eltham Lodge he comments, “nothing great, but worth at least a sentimental journey to see this grandfather of all Georgian brick Boxes.”

But I am pleased my own estate fared not only better but also was described with a little affection.

“Well Hall Estate, Eltham Sir Frank Baines and others, 1916

This extraordinary place was designed in seven days as a rush job to house war-workers for Woolwich Arsenal.  It seems an odd recipe for one of the best housing estates near London.  

Perhaps the architects imply did not have time to air their preconceptions, and the local officials their disastrous application of bye-laws.  

Comfortable, cottagey design, slate and stucco, taken out of the rarified atmosphere of the garden cities, always trying to see streets as entities rather than collections of units.  

The best part is Ross Way, running from Well Hall Road at the junction of Rochester Way.  

This curves round a gentle slope with a raised footpath and uses every possible trick of gables and end walls.  

Half way along, footpaths run off under archways as part of a fairy-tale composition which by an irony is more like a German village than anything else.”***

It is a long time since I have looked through the book but with a wet weekend ahead I think I shall spend a few hours crossing London courtesy of Mr Nairn.

And as the publisher promised the book is the first of a series with one planned for the Industrial North, which sadly was never written which is a shame because  having said some nice things  about where I grew up I wondered if he would do the same for where I now live.

Well we shall see.

Picture; cover from Nairn’s London, 1966

*Nairn’s London, Ian Nairn, 1966

**ibid page 207


***ibid page 208

Never throw away the negatives ....... part 2 .... The Talmud Torah School ....Bent Street

Now keeping the negatives never really seems worth it, but when the original prints get lost or damaged those negatives can prove very important.

All of which just points up how pleased I was that I found the set which I took of the streets around Cheetham Hill Road in the mid 1980s.

Not only have the prints gone but so have the notes I made of the research into the area.

This is the old Talmud Torah School opened in 1880, for “the teaching of elementary education in
Hebrew, the Scriptures and the Talmud and in the principles of the Jewish faith and practise. Talmud Torah schools were traditionally for boys only. Girls were admitted in modern times. 

The School was founded in 1880 and established in purpose built premises at No. 11 Bent Street, Cheetham, Manchester. In 1958 the Bent Street school was sold and in 1959 the new headquarters of the Manchester Central Board for Hebrew Education and Talmud Torah was opened in Upper Park Road, Salford. It closed in 2005”.*

I had half expected that the building would no longer exist but it does, still in commercial use as it when I came across it, but looking a lot better.  All but two of the big signboards have gone and these are neat and discreet.

Added to which a fair amount of the school’s records have survived, including account books payments and registers of contributions and a description of the damage done to the building during the Blitz.

Location; Bent Street, Manchester

Picture; The Talmud Torah School, 1986, from the collection of Andrew Simpson

* Records of the Manchester Jewish Community, 2015, Manchester Central Library, www.manchester.gov.uk/download/.../id/.../jewish_community_archives_guide.pdf

Cooking with Nana ….. potato pancakes

 Yesterday I made potato pancakes.

The humble potato

Now there shouldn’t be anything unusual about that.

They are after all just a mix of grated potatoes, egg, flour and flavouring which you fry up.

And to spice things further you can always add onion or apples.

Not that my German grandmother added such things.

She stuck to the simple potato, flour and eggs and cooked them to perfection.

Mother tended to be a tad heavy handed and sometimes hers departed from the thin crispy variety with an ossy centre and became bigger and heavier.

Either way they were a staple dish in our house and often came inside two slices of bread, compounding their calorific content.

Pizza

But we knew no better, and potato pancake sandwiches sat beside, apple sandwiches, sugar sandwiches, and bread with dripping and bread with meat or fish paste.

And for 63 of my 74 years, I have on and off attempted to replicate the perfect potato pancake.

Sadly, always with little success.  It never occurred to me to look up a recipe, just followed what I thought Nana and mum did it.

Had I followed a recipe I would have spotted the binding agent of the egg.

And the rest as they say is easy peezy.

They now sit beside those other favourites of home made pizza, parmigiana di melanzane, heaps of pasta dishes, and that triumph of gooey potato pleasure which mixes slices of cooked potatoes, mozzarella cheese topped with tomato sauce.

                                                Lasagna

Historically what all of them have in common is that they are peasant food, low on meat and high on cheap products easily available.

Pesto and pasta

In the case of potato pancake which can be found across middle Europe the challenge and the fun is what goes in, from onion to apple or whatever is available.

Like pasta and pizza they are easy to make,  are filling but offer up all sorts of variants.

And that is that.

Other than to say what was once simple peasant food has been transformed or as the Italian side of the family would say stolen.

That simple pesto sauce which accompanies pasta and is just a mix of fresh basil, pine nuts and cheese with lashings of olive oil is now to be found in salads, and sandwiches.

But sometimes adaptions do work, and the new kid on the block which is red pesto, made from sundried tomatoes is a favourite.

But why should I be surprised .... because the simplest peasant foods were always up to be adapted as food supplies changed. 

Pizzoccheri della Valtellina

And sometimes the oddest simple ingredients make stunning dishes.

So Tina's mum who is from Naples long ago embraced a northern Italian dish, which is Pizzoccheri della Valtellina, which put simply is a mix of pasta, potatoes, savoy cabbage and spinach and three types of cheese. Pizzoccheri is a type of short wide tagliattelle made from a mixture of buckwheat flour and wheat flour. The buckwheat gives the pasta a brown speckley look which I have to say was different.

She cooked the potatoes and cabbage together and then layered these with the cooked pasta and the diced cheese with more grated cheese on top and bakes for about 15 minutes.

I have to confess that greens do not do much for me. I guess it dates back to overcooked green cabbage which was served up in my primary school. Even now I have vivid memories of the agony of forcing it down under the stern gaze of the dinner lady wanting to be anywhere than facing this plate of torture.

But her  Pizzoccheri is very heaven.

More pizza

Our Saul has always made a heap of different pesto's depending on what "green ingredient" he can put his hands on .

In the same way pizza that classic street food has evolved and on the way has been been claimed by lots of nationalities, but at home in Italy and here in Chorlton we are all agreed pineapple ain't a good topping.

Pictures, potato pancakes, pizza, and parmigiana di melanzane from the collection of Andrew Simpson

Love stories from number 28 Edge Lane

Now here is what looks like a series of love stories featuring no 28 Edge Lane.

But first to the house which for a great chunk of its existence was known as Barway House.

It is still there hidden during the summer by a canopy of leaves but recognisable from this 1958 photograph by A E Landers.

Barway House 28 Edge lane, 1959

It is typical of the sort of house which ran along Edge Lane and dates from the 1880s when it went under the name of Barway Villa.

It seems to date from 1865 and was built by a John M Hazelgrove, who lived there for a year before taking up residence at the Oaks on Edge Lane.

It was then occupied by Mr Arthur Kay Dyson who was in imports and exports with an office at 28 George Street in town.

And in 1881  was the home of Alexander Henry Gilbody and his wife Mary Ellen.

The house in 2018

The Gilbody’s had three children and were cared for by three servants which is what you would expect of a family which appear to have been comfortably well off and living in a 12 roomed house set in its own grounds with a large greenhouse to the south and stables to the rear and a rateable value of £110.

The family were still there a decade and a bit later which neatly offers up the first two love stories.

For on November 8 1891, Philip Matthew Schofield aged 25 married Hanna Crosby from Wales.  She was just 20 and both worked in the house.  Mr Schofield was the coachman and Hannah a servant.

And in the February of the following year Miss Amelia Caroline Sharpe married Harry Wells Currie a hair dresser, both were from Port Maddock.

Barway House on Edge Lane and Barway Road, 1894

Ten months earlier she had been living with her mother and brother at home in Wales and I guess may well have come to Barway House to take the place of the newly married Hannah Schofield.

In time I shall go looking for both couples but for now I shall finish with George Davison who was living at Barway House during the end of 1904 and into the following year.

I did at first think he was lodging there but a little later a George Davison is listed as the caretaker and later still is on the census return.

But this was his father because by then our George had married his sweet heart who he had written to throughout 1904 and 1905.

Some of his courting letters have survived and they are a mix of affectionate comments, concerns about Nellie’s health and descriptions of his studies which take up much of the correspondence

He was set on bettering himself and here are the records of his success in Latin and French along with English and Maths all of which were governed by his desire to do well and offer her a secure future.

From George to Nellie, 1904

But what strikes you more than anything is the frequent reference to the arrangements of where to meet whether it was at the “end of the Grove” or at her parent’s home.

Today all of this would be accomplished by a phone call or a text but back then it was the letter and the postcard which with the frequency of the post meant that arrangements to meet could be made on the same day with the confidence that both would get the message.

By the end of 1905 he was living in Old Trafford and in 1908 the couple were married by which time he was back in Barway House, and from there they started their married life in Hulme.

So perhaps not a tale of great consequences or matters of high politics but just a set of stories of people behind the door of number 28 Edge Lane, a house I have passed countless times but given no thought to.

Pictures; Barway House in North east side, 1958, A E Landers, m17773, courtesy of Manchester Libraries, Information and Archives, Manchester City Council, http://images.manchester.gov.uk/index.php?session=pass extract from the OS map of 1894 courtesy of Digital Archives Association, http://www.digitalarchives.co.uk/ the house in 2018, from the collection of Jonathan Keenan, and letter from George Davison from the George Davison collection courtesy of David Harrop

The 10-bob insurance plan …….. 16 and out on a jolly in Eltham

It is pretty hard now to remember that there was a time before contactless payments, cash dispensers, and indeed that plastic card which guarantees you can pay for the food shop in the supermarket, buy a bus ticket or get a round in at the pub.

But there was, which meant you were reliant on the cash in your pocket.

Of course, for anyone born before 1970 that is a given, but for me it remains a mark of just how far we have travelled in a few decades.

I rarely carry cash when out, secure in the knowledge that pretty much everything I might want can be sourced through plastic.

But as a 16-year-old in 1966, I kept a 10-shilling note in the back of my wallet which was the fall back plan.

In Eltham, Woolwich and Greenwich that was never a problem, because the bus was cheap and anyway the sensible and cheap solution would be to walk home, leaving the 10-bob insurance plan for a real emergency.

That said, I never needed the plan, and finally chose to spend it on a day in early 1971, prompted I suppose by the imminent arrival of Decimal Day.

On one level it’s not much of a story, but it’s a pointer to how things were different.

And in the same way I still wonder what we did before mobiles, because back then there would be that moment when out in town one of us would opt to go off for an hour.

Today, we are just a phone call away.

But back then we must have had to agree on where and when to meet up, and woe betide you if you were late.

The obvious choice would be the entrance to the Church or the Library, but for reasons I never quite knew, we often fastened on the Electricity Board show rooms, or the record store of the Co-op.

The later I fully understand, but the show rooms remain a mystery, although we did also favour the upstairs restaurant which I think was a Maypole or Liptons.

And here is the cruel disappointment, because I went looking for both the show rooms and the restaurant and failed dismally to find them.  Where once you could pay your bills, take in the latest set of white goods, dinners can choose from a range of Italian dishes.

As for the Maypole/Liptons I am at a loss, thinking it may have been upstairs in that building beside David Grieg which is now Iceland.

Not that it matters over much, because I doubt my ten bob would buy  a lot on the High Street these days.

Infarct, even the humble Mars Bar, which was treat I often bought on the way home at the sweet shop beside the Odeon, would today be beyond my 10-bob note.

All of which leaves me to acknowledge that I have substituted a £ note for my ten bob, simply because looking through the collection there are no ten-shilling notes, only this green one, so that will have to do.

Location; Eltham

Pictures; from the collection of Andrew Simpson and Liz and Colin Fitzpatrick

What did you collect in the Great War?

It is of course a play on that recruitment poster from 1915 where a child asks her father “Daddy what did you do in the Great War?”*

Daddy looks in the distance with a thoughtful expression which you can interpret as guilt at failing “to do his bit” or reflecting on what he saw and did in the service of his country.

Either way the authorities were quick to exploit that tendency of kids and even grown ups to collect stamps and cigarette cards to further interest in the war.

Not that this is an original observation just an introduction into a 1915 album of 126 stamps which feature some of the leading personalities of the period.

So here are the King and Queen, a collection of soldiers, sailors, politicians and foreign statemen.

Some are from Britain and others from the former British Empire.

Amongst the lot there are not only Lord Roberts who had been Commander-in-Chief of the Forces, but also the New Zealand Corporal Cyril Bassett who was awarded the VC in 1915 and the nurse Edith Cavell who had been executed by the German army in the same year.

The album was acquired by my old friend David “Posty” Harrop who has a huge collection of memorabilia from both world wars along with a heap of material charting the history of the Post Office.

And as so often happens mixed up with the acquisition was a letter from Lord Roberts to the Reverend A.T. Humphreys of Cromford.

It was dated September 1914 and thanked the Reverend for making a contribution to the “appeal for field glasses [which] will be of the greatest possible service to our Non-Commissioned Officers in the Field”.

I am always surprised at just how much almost all armies in conflicts are reliant on the public for support whether it be “comforts” or in this case essential war equipment.

The letter is also slightly poignant given that Lord Roberts died just two months later of pneumonia at St Omer, France, while visiting Indian troops fighting at the Front.

Just what the Reverend A.T. Humphreys of Cromford thought of his letter is lost and nor do we know who carefully collected the stamps or what conclusions they drew from the collection.

But together they are two of those tiny bits that make up the story of the Great War.

Pictures; from an album of stamps, circa 1915, the letter from Lord Roberts, 1914 and that poster,  from the collection of David Harrop, and Daddy what did you do in the Great War?”1915, Imperial War Museum, Art.IWM PST 031

*“Daddy what did you do in the Great War?” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daddy,_What_Did_You_Do_in_the_Great_War%3F#:~:text=a%20commercial%20product.-,%22Daddy%2C%20What%20Did%20You%20Do%20in%20the%20Great%20War%3F,less%20direct%20in%20its%20messaging.

The tram to catch in Prague …… travels with old friends

Now, I am reliably informed by my Prague chums that tram route 22 is the one for getting to see all of the city’s attractions.  It offers breath-taking views of the city as it runs through Hradčany, passing by the National Theatre and stopping at Prague Castle, Loreta and Strahov Monastery.

Prague tram car 8567 on the 22 route and a blue pal, 2024

So when I got this picture in the post I just had to explore the Timmy trams of Prague and on the way pick up a bit of the history.

According to my official Prague guide to public transport “tram network is 88,5 miles (142,4 km)-long and consists of 22 daytime tram lines and 9 night lines. Combining this means of transport with the metro, passengers will be able to travel anywhere in the city.

The first tram, which was pulled by horses, started running on 23 September 1875.

Due to the horsecar trams constantly derailing and the introduction of the first electric trams in Europe during the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century, Prague inaugurated the first electric line in 1891. In 2012, over 324,2 million passengers had used the tram in Prague.

Daytime trams start running at 4:30 am approximately every 10 minutes until midnight. Night trams (numbers 51 to 59) run from midnight until 4:30 am every 30 - 40 minutes”.*

Catching a tram at Exchange Square, Manchester, 2024

And the picture and the story have now been added to my collection which crosses Europe, includes San Francisco and in time heaps more places.**

But at this point as you would expect I cannot resist mentioning the Simpson Topping project to tell the History of Greater Manchester by Tram.***

The first of the series is out now and covers that part of the East Didsbury line from Trafford Bar to East Didsbury.  

It costs just £4.99, just a tad more than the price of a "one day anytime travelcard” and explores each of the metro stops along the route, discovering a bit of the history of each, with fine original paintings by Peter Topping.

It is available from Chorlton Bookshop, and from us at www.pubbooks.co.uk

Our red friend and his blue companions passing through Prague, 2024

So after that outrageous piece of self-promotion, I will return to the Prague trams, with the odd snippet of travel information that apparently ten different companies operate along the same Prague line.

Which I suspect is a very heaven for anyone who collects tram numbers.

*civitatis Prague, https://www.introducingprague.com/tram

**Trams across the world, https://chorltonhistory.blogspot.com/search/label/Trams%20across%20the%20world

***A History of Greater Manchester by Tram, https://chorltonhistory.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20new%20book%20on%20the%20History%20of%20Greater%20Manchester%20by%20Tram