Memories of Little Hulton

MY EARLY LIFE

1. 1904 to 1937. My Parents.

I didn't see much of the thirties and can remember even less. I will begin with some background on my family and their circumstances at the time. I was born on the 22nd February 1937 at Townleys Hospital, Bolton in Lancashire. I remember the hospital in later years as a large gloomy dark red brick building situated on the Farnworth side of the town near Plodder Lane. It is nice to report that we are both still up and running although I am now sixty-nine years of age with one slightly dodgy hip. The hospital building of the 1930's still stands and continues in use but the old name has gone. It is now part of a huge extended complex called the Bolton and District General Hospital.

My mother was called Mary Ann Pearson. She lived before her marriage at 56 Sandwich Street, Walkden with her parents and Elizabeth Watt Pearson, her elder sister. "Lizzie," as she was always known, was born on the 4th September 1903 and Mary on the 25th January 1906. Their parents were James Pearson (born March 1865) and Elizabeth Ellen Watt (born June 1865). They were married at St Stephens's church, Kearsley on February 1st 1902. Looking at the dates above, Elizabeth was 41 years of age when she had Mary. In later years Mary always said her mother was "on the change" by the time she was born, and it made her a bit grumpy. James worked in a coal mine; he was rather keen on horse racing and the odd glass or three. Grandmother, I remember as a child when they came to live with us, had a very sharp temper. That is probably unkind by the time I could recall her, she was in her eighties, in poor health, and didn't have much time for cheeky little boys.

Sandwich Street, I can remember well, it was off Manchester Road, nearly opposite to Walkden Church on the Manchester side. It was a typical Victorian terraced workers dwelling, with a lounge and kitchen at ground level and two bedrooms upstairs. There was a stone flagged back yard with a WC at the bottom of it and a gate to the alley behind. The terraced houses were on both sides off the narrow Sandwich Street and you stepped off the street directly into the lounge or parlour, as it was known. This room was packed with furniture, a horsehair settee under the window and two tall sideboards with table and chairs in the centre. Half of one wall was filled with "the range." This served as the heating and cooking facility fuelled by coal, manufactured in black cast iron with an oven. Damper plates that were pulled in and out by iron bars controlled the oven temperature. Elizabeth kept it all scrupulously clean, it was black leaded and polished regularly. The kitchen behind the parlour was if anything larger and had a small pantry off. There was a sink with a cold water supply only and a table in the room. The walls had some wooden shelving on which Elizabeth carefully laid sheets of newspaper, which she cut in an ornamental pattern. The sink of course was the only water point in the house, there was no bathroom and they would bathe in a metal tub on the floor with hot water heated up on the range. The windows to all rooms were small. There was no heating in any room apart from the parlour with the range. A gas mantle lit by a taper illuminated the parlour all the remaining rooms were lit by portable oil lamps, requiring regular filling and cleaning. It was a matter of pride for Elizabeth that the stone step at the front door was always scrubbed clean. The Pearson's lived in this house until they moved in with my parents, Wilf and Mary then living in Little Hulton soon after the war.

Immediately behind Sandwich Street was one of the many cotton mills and a large chimney towered overhead. Part of the weaving shed my mother worked in actually backed onto Sandwich Street and surprisingly is still there although all the old terraced houses have gone. I noticed on my last visit with delight that the old cast iron street sign saying "Sandwich Street" was still bolted to the wall at the top of the road. That is exactly the same sign I would have seen in the early 1940's when I went to visit my Grandparents. Walkden in the early years of the twentieth century was still essentially a Victorian village, close to Bolton and Manchester. The centre was notable for the monument in the middle of the main road junction. It was originally erected as far back as 1868 in memory of Harriet widow of Francis the first Earl of Ellesmere. Iron railings surrounded it but they were removed in 1915, possibly the metal was needed for the war. I was rather disappointed years later when the monument was moved alongside the school my parents went to, close to Walkden Church. It never looked quite so impressive tucked away down there. Transport then was principally by horse and cart. The first petrol driven cars and electric trams were just appearing and cycling was in its heyday. Entertainment at home was limited to the phonograph, or the piano, wireless was still to appear. How would today's youth have coped with no multi channel digital TV's, DVD's, mobile phones etc? They would have had to learn to live without electricity for a start!

Living across the road in Sandwich Street from the Pearson's in the 1920's was an unmarried lady called Annie Squirrel and her daughter May who was born in 1927. During this period there was a great stigma attached to this situation and it must have been very difficult for Annie. They lived in a grocery shop run by Annie's mother on the corner with Atkin Street. May remembers her Granny as a bit of a tyrant. She made her own ice cream and they kept a pony called Bessie in a shed in the back yard. Bessie used to earn her keep by pulling the ice cream cart round. There was a blacksmith behind the shop who would shoe horses. When Annie went out to work my grandmother Elizabeth, Mary and Lizzie helped to look after May. I am still in frequent contact with May who lives in Manchester. She remained in touch with my Mother and Lizzie all their lives and I have always regarded her as one of the family. I always say she is the nearest thing I have to a sister. She remembers going over to the Pearson's house as a small child in the early 1930's. "Nanny" Pearson as she called her was always dressed in long dark clothes. She was very kind and usually friendly but could quickly blow her top. "Daddy" James sitting at the table in the parlour with no tablecloth, covering all his food with vinegar and asking May to pick a winner from the runners in the daily paper. He was never seen without wearing a cap and silk scarf, even when sitting in the house. Annie and May lived in Sandwich Street until 1934, when Annie married and they moved to Burnage, near Manchester.

My father Wilfred Clarke was born on the 22nd March 1904. The birth certificate states he was born at Manchester Road, Walkden but I cannot decipher the number. He was the youngest of three children, the eldest sister Doris (born January 1899), and brother Arthur (born July1902). His father was Arthur Clarke (born July 1868) from Eccles near Manchester and his mother Elizabeth Barnes (born March 1869), from Ellenbrooke near Walkden They were married on the 15th August 1896 at Worsley. I have a wonderful photograph of my Grandparents taken in the late 1890's they were a handsome couple. Records show that two other children were born, Leslie in 1908 and Nora in 1912, sadly they did not survive infancy. On Wilfred's birth certificate it gives his fathers occupation as "Spinner in Cotton Mill." Unfortunately Wilf had a serious accident around 1912, he was playing out on the road when a horse and cart hit him and damaged a leg. The crude treatment at that time was to put the leg in iron callipers for six months; inevitably this resulted in a wasting of the leg muscles as a consequence. For the rest of his life he walked with a limp, as one leg was longer than the other. Perhaps it became useful when he was clambering up and down the roofs as a tiler in later years! At some point Wilf's family moved to live at 34 Birch Road, Walkden, I am not sure when. They were certainly living there when Wilf was married in 1930 and he then moved to live with Mary's parents in Sandwich Street.

It is almost certain that Mary and Wilf and their brothers and sisters would all have attended the same school, a small brick-faced building, still situated alongside Walkden Church. It was boarded up when I last visited and may not survive much longer. The education they received must have been pretty rudimentary. I remember Dad telling me they didn't have books to write in, each child was given a piece of slate in a wooden frame and a piece of chalk to write with. There were no such things as primary and secondary schools then, children attended one school and at the age of fourteen were given a "Labour Certificate," releasing them from Education and authorising them to find work. Lizzie's certificate is in the photograph albums. The local church and Sunday school were an important part of their upbringing. The annual Whitsun church walk around the Parish boundaries was a great event. I have a photograph in a book of the Whitsun procession gathering around the monument in 1905, all the roads are jam packed with people as far as the eye can see. There are many photographs of Mary, Lizzie, Doris, Arthur, and Wilf all enjoying themselves walking from being very small children to still walking during the 1930's clearly wearing their Sunday best.

For a period around the end of the 19th Century and the beginning of the 20th Century the Lancashire cotton industry led the world. The inevitable route for most working class children at that time was to find work in the local mill usually at the age of fourteen on completing school. This is exactly what happened to Mary and Lizzie. I seem to remember Dad telling me he started even earlier at twelve. This would seem to be borne out by his birth certificate in the photograph albums. I only noticed today, it is dated March 1916 not 1904 and states, "Certified copy, not for Education purposes". This would almost certainly have been obtained for him to commence work and I suspect the early start was due to the Great War and the shortage of manpower at that time. Doubtless their parents welcomed the small amount of money they brought in. Arthur worked as a surface worker at the nearby Brackley Colliery; he probably started at the age of twelve also.

Wilf would have had to get up early to get to the mill on time. The shift started at 6am and worked through until 5-30pm. The normal working week consisted of 54 hours, which included the usual half-day on Saturday morning and must have been tough for a twelve year old. People would walk to work wearing their clogs; it must have been quite noisy in the vicinity of the mill with all those iron bars on the soles banging on the ground. I have read the expression "the clatter of the clogs" many times and I suppose it was a normal part of life in those days and probably nobody even noticed it. If workers were late for their shift they would be fined a few coppers. There would not have been a canteen so Wilf would have had to take sandwiches and a drink with him. Food became scarce during the years of the war as we relied on imports and many Merchant ships were not getting through due to the actions of the German Submarines.

What would he have been doing when he first started in the mill in March 1916 and what were conditions like? He must have been overwhelmed by the noise, heat and sheer power of the throbbing machines. The machinery used in the mill was massive; the Crompton spinning mule could be up to 160 feet in length. The mules worked in pairs and moved back and forth. The working area between them was known as the "mulegate." The wooden floors here would have been soaked in oil the result of years of spindle lubricant dropping onto the floor as the mules moved to and fro over the area year in year out. The great line shafts with their enormous belts were driven by steam from the Engine house. The noise must have been horrendous. Young lads just starting were known as "little piecers." Their job would have been mainly to "keep th'ends up" which meant repairing any broken threads. They would also have to make the workers tea and do all the necessary sweeping and cleaning. The mules would never stop apart from essential maintenance and repair and they would have to eat their sandwiches as they worked. Another problem would have been the heat; the mules were never run below a temperature of 85 degrees F. All in all it must have been a very unpleasant working environment and Wilf had to face that aged only twelve. I am pretty certain the character of the lad would have been much the same as the elderly man he became. He would simply have got on with whatever task he had to face up to without complaining.

They were both taken on family holidays as young children. I remember once going on holiday to the Isle of Man in 1949 and mother pointing out to me a rather dark and dingy house where they used to stay on holiday when she was a child. I wonder how they afforded the fare to get across the Irish Sea? They also had holidays in Blackpool and there is a nice photograph of a young Wilf and all his family outside a Boarding House around 1918. Wilf's best pals as a young man were Stan Nightingale, Tom Potter and Tom Partington. Mary's was Ivy Barnes who eventually married Tom Potter. They remained close friends all their lives.

The First World War, which began on the 4th August 1914, must have had a great impact on their lives. The remarkable thing was that Mother's father James saw service on the western front in France. Remarkable in that when war broke out in 1914 he was already forty-nine years of age and survived the terrible carnage. He only just made it, the age limit then for admission was fifty and of the original army in 1914 only one third survived. There is a Pearson family studio photograph of him in his uniform with Elizabeth and the two girls. Looking at the ages of Mary and Lizzie I would say it was taken in late 1914 or early 1915 before he went away. After twelve years of marriage that must have been a traumatic experience for Elizabeth considering James's age. The girls were presented with "The Over-Seas Club" Empire Day certificates in 1915 and 1916 at Sunday school, which I still have. An inscription under their names says " Who has helped to send some comfort to the brave Sailors and Soldiers of the British Empire who are fighting to uphold Honour, Freedom and Justice." I am not sure what comfort they were able to send, a few prayers probably. I also have a wonderful silk bookmark made in memory of Wilf's cousin Leonard who was killed aged nineteen on March 28th 1917. I notice the address on it gives 15 Manchester Road, Walkden only five doors away from the house that Wilf's parents bought in the 1930's.

I do not know if Wilf's father Arthur served in the War or not. In regard to the Pearson family I wonder how they coped financially during the four years James was away. He was presumably classed as a "Reserve Soldier" being a volunteer and not a regular before war was declared. The pay for soldiers in this class was three shillings and sixpence per week, just over seventeen pence in today's money. I wouldn't think he could spare much to send home by the time he had bought some wine and tobacco. Probably the small amount Lizzie brought home in 1917 when she started in the Mill aged 14 was vital. Again I do not know when James came home again in 1918 did he resume his job at the coalmine? He would have been 53 by then and working conditions in the mine must have been terrible. From the trenches and back to the pit it wasn't much of a life for him!

The Great War certainly changed the lives of women in Britain and offered them great advancements both politically and economically. That would have had little impact on Mary and Lizzie as they trudged off daily to the Mill in 1918. At least there were some changes beginning. A law was passed in January 1918 giving women over thirty the right to vote in parliamentary elections. It took another ten years before women were granted complete equality with men and were allowed to vote at the age of twenty-one. This was just in time for Mother who was twenty-one in 1927 the year before the passing of the second Bill. Dad had been twenty-one in 1925 and the first election they would both have been eligible to vote would have been in 1929. Here Ramsey McDonald won for Labour. I wonder if they bothered to vote and who for?

They were lucky to be in employment when the war ended in 1918. After a spell of post war prosperity industrial profits and wages began to fall and demobilised soldiers found it difficult or impossible to find work. By the summer of 1921 there were over two million people unemployed and strikes were on the increase. There was wide spread suffering and deprivation and a series of short term Governments attempted to cope with the recurring crisis.

When did Mary and Wilf finally begin to seriously "go out" with each other? They must have first come into contact around 1911 when Mary started school. I remember Mother telling me that as a teenager she used to go out "hunting" with Ivy. On further questioning it seemed they visited the area known as the "Monkey Run" in nearby Farnworth, on a main road called Market Street. Apparently at weekends the girls would line up while the gallant young men perused the available talent. Years later, I had to walk down this same road on my way to Grammar school, sadly there were no young girls lining the route as I recall. Looking at the photographs, I would say they were having a relationship from around the mid 1920's. Both were then working in a different mill. Mary worked in the mill immediately behind Sandwich Street and Wilf in a larger building off Bolton Road. This building dominated the centre of Walkden with its massive chimney for nearly a hundred years. It was not demolished until the early 1970's to make way for an equally massive Tesco supermarket.

As a young man Wilf in the 1920's used to go on holiday to the Isle of Man, to Cunningham's Holiday Camp. Joseph Cunningham from Liverpool a staunch Presbyterian keenly interested in Youth work founded the camp in 1894. The original layout was an all male-tented site and attracted up to 600 men per week. It is generally considered to be Britain's first holiday camp. No alcohol was allowed, as Cunningham was an ardent temperance advocate throughout his life. I have several photos of Wilf at the camp with his brother Arthur, Tom Partington, Stan Nightingale and other friends. It was not until 1935 that Billy Butlin founded his first camp at Skegness.

I don't know if the General Strike of May 1926 had any impact on the Clarke and Pearson families. It was called by the TUC in defence of miner's wages and hours they worked. I assume James Pearson had retired by this date. Workers in key industries came out on strike for ten days and it caused great bitterness when it collapsed. The miners carried on alone for the next six months. I do not think textile workers were called out but it must have had a major impact on production at the time as all communications were affected and industry was brought to a standstill.

What was life like for them during the late 20's as they approached marriage? They were both employed, which was important. Work in the mill was noisy, hard and sometimes dangerous, all for little pay. Wilf was trying to catch up on his lack of education by attending night school. His ambition at that stage would almost certainly have been to eventually obtain a supervisory position in the weaving shed. He began to build up a collection of encyclopaedias, "The Wonderland of Knowledge" (12 volumes), "Our Wonderful World" (4 volumes), "The Worlds Wonders" and "Wonders of the World," they are all still on my shelves today. I am not sure how he acquired all those books. I recently read the marvellous autobiography by William Woodruffe, "The Road to Nab End." He was born in Blackburn in 1916, his parents worked in the cotton mill, and that would have been his fate if he had not run away to London in 1932. He describes how he got hold of the first volume of " The Wonderland of Knowledge," and the huge impact the book had on him. He obtained the book by saving up soap powder coupons. Is that what Dad did?

Wilf also had a battered collection called " The Self Educator," which appeared very well used. Foolishly I threw those away after he died. Typical of the man, he was determined to make up for what had been denied him. They had lots of friends being members of various church youth groups. Wilf was a member of local football and cricket teams and Mary was involved in an amateur Dramatic society. There are several photographs of her in various productions.

No doubt they were frequent visitors to the local cinemas. By 1917 it was estimated there were over 3,000 cinemas across the country. During the war the cinema had played a crucial role in propaganda to build civilian morale. They would have attended "The Palace" (opened 1912) on Manchester Road and the "Criterion" (opened 1922) on Bolton Road, both showing the new "Talkies." This was an expression to describe films with sound that had started with Al Jolsen's "The Jazz Singer" released in 1923. By 1939 the number of cinemas had risen to 5,000 and the cheapest seats cost sixpence. Cinema appealed to its audience who recreated the clothes and interiors they saw on the screen. In the 1930's girls were seen wearing the latest " Garbo" coats and waved their hair like Norma Shearer.

Dad used to go to Burnden Park in the 1920's to watch Bolton Wanderers play football. He usually went with Tom Potter and they stood on the railway embankment so called as a railway line passed the ground at the top of the terrace. Bolton had quite a successful team in those days and during the decade they won the FA.Cup three times. Mother told me she went with him a few times but never really enjoyed it. As she put it, " I never liked all that swearing!"

The late twenties and early thirties produced several marriages. Doris and Lizzie were both married within a few months of each other in 1928. Mary was a bridesmaid at Lizzies wedding to Albert Williamson on the 4th February. On the 14th April Doris married Sam Urmson. Both weddings took place at Walkden Church. Sadly neither marriage produced any children, although Lizzie had a little girl who died at birth. I have a copy of the Parish Magazine of March 1928 announcing Lizzie's wedding. There is a nice sketch of the church on the front cover with a large note below declaring, "All seats in the church are free." Very generous!

Mary and Wilf were married at Walkden Church on the 19th April 1930. The best man was Wilf's brother Arthur; bridesmaids were Lizzie and Ivy Barnes. May Squirrel was there, aged three in a white dress and bonnet. A young Joyce Williamson also attended, Joyce was a niece of Albert, Lizzie's husband. The wedding certificate gives both Wilf and his father's occupation as "Cotton Spinner." The vicar conducting the service was the Revd. Mower Smith. He had previously been the Headmaster of Farnworth Grammar School appointed in 1892. A reception was held afterwards at Sandwich Street, May remembers the children sitting at a separate table to eat, Joyce and two others who she cannot recall. Her mother did not go as she was working. There is a photograph of both parents outside the house after the wedding, Arthur and James wearing a flower to go with their smart suits and ties, with both Elizabeth's and little May and Joyce at the front. I must say nobody looks very overjoyed, the adults in particular looking very serious! Grim, is the word that comes to mind, I am sure that is not how they really felt. Wilf and Mary lived with her parents in Sandwich Street for a short time after the wedding before renting another house in the same road. Strangely enough Lizzie and Albert had done the same thing two years earlier, also renting a house in Sandwich Street. It brings to mind the old saying, " There's no place like home."

Public transport locally from the time my parents were born until they were married would have been by the electric tram. There were tracks inlaid in the road and overhead power lines, which connected to the trams by a single metal rod. The first tram from Walkden ran the year my Mother was born in 1906 and services were eventually available to Bolton and Manchester. The early trams were on two decks but the upper deck was open with no roof over. By 1930 some tram routes were being taken over by the trolley bus. They were slightly more flexible than the tram in that they did not need tracks in the road but still required an overhead power supply. Trolley buses connected Walkden through to Little Hulton and onto Farnworth until 1958.

Around the time of the wedding disaster struck Wilf's working life. For the previous fourteen years he had worked in the same mill, but circumstances out of his control suddenly cost him his job. By 1930 times were getting hard and the years of the depression were looming following the crash on the American Wall Street financial markets in 1929. The Lancashire cotton industry was now in decline, and world markets were being taken over by more mechanised industries in America and the Far East. One day the steam boiler providing power to the mill exploded and there were some casualties. A lasting impact of this was that the mill owners could not afford the costly repair and so it was closed. This must have been a very bad time for the newly weds. Britain faced up to the depression and unemployment peaked at just below three million in 1932. The previous August the Labour Government had resigned and been replaced by a Conservative dominated National Government. The economy stabilised under the National Government and unemployment began a steady decline after 1935 as a period of re-armament began.

Wilf tried a new venture; he went into partnership with another man in the poultry business. They hired a piece of land, bought a shed and began to keep hens to sell the eggs. He was involved with this for about eighteen months and things seemed to be going well. One day he found out his partner had cleared off with most of the profits. Generally Wilf was calm and philosophical, a characteristic he retained all his life but even he must have sworn at that moment. Determined as ever, he tried his hand at roof tiling and got a job with a firm in the Manchester area. He discovered he had a real aptitude for this work and had a good head for heights.

In the early 1930's Wilf's parents moved to a new house at 27 Manchester Road Walkden. This was a terraced house on the main road passing through Walkden. It was much larger than the houses in Sandwich Street. At ground level there were three rooms and there was a corridor inside the front door so you did not step into the parlour directly. I cannot remember the front room ever being used; they used to live in the second room off the kitchen. Like Sandwich Street this room contained the large cast iron range used for cooking. I assume there must have been three bedrooms but I cannot ever remember going upstairs to look. Again there was no bathroom. It had a large walled garden to the rear with a lawn and the usual outside toilet. As a young child in the 1940's I can remember visiting this house and it seemed very dark inside. I can remember the flickering light from the hissing gas mantle and Grandad who was blind by that time sitting in his rocking chair humming to himself. Grandma was always very friendly and cheerful.

They always had a holiday every year, usually to North Wales or Blackpool. At that time in Lancashire, holidays were all taken over a two-week period, at the same period every year. It was known as "Wakes week," as a visiting fair would always coincide with the holiday period. This tradition was still there in the 1950's and I always looked forward to the excitement of Silcock Bros Fair. The shops would close and Walkden became semi-deserted. In July 1933, Wilf, Mary, Lizzie and Albert took a holiday together near Snowden, which they duly climbed. They travelled by "charabanc," a long open sided vehicle with rows of transverse benches. It is obvious they all got on well together. Considering how close the two sisters always were, they were lucky their respective husbands accepted this situation. Albert was a rather dour character usually with a "woodbine" cigarette in his mouth. Holidays were also taken in Scotland during the 1930's this time with the addition also of Donald, Albert's brother and his wife Jesse plus young Joyce and her friend. The general pattern at this time seemed to be holidays away together with other family members and friends.

Wilf and Mary were to live in their rented house in Sandwich Street until 1935. The success of his new job as a roof tiler had enabled them to save enough money for a deposit on a new house. They moved to live at 11 Beechfield Avenue, Little Hulton, about five miles away. This was on a housing estate just completed, the development incorporated blocks of four dwellings in a terrace. The layout was pretty unimaginative, three parallel roads, blocks of terraces each side with a road at right angles at each end. It was located at the top end of Cleggs Lane and a row of shops was also built at the entrance off the main road. One good thing about the estate it was surrounded by fields, which was a huge improvement on Sandwich Street. Wilf and Mary bought the end of a block and soon after Lizzie and Albert bought the end of the adjoining block. The two sisters were to live next door to each other for the next twenty years. Come to think of it, they lived together or in the same road for nearly fifty years, until Mary and Wilf subsequently moved to Tynesbank, Little Hulton in 1955 to take over the grocer's shop there.

When I look back at my parents early years I find it staggering to see the changes in society and technology between the birth of my father in 1904 and myself in 1937. Electric power transformed homes and factories throughout England at this time and led to the Central Electricity Board. Great strides were made in transport facilities with further development of the tram, bus, motorcar and aeroplanes. The shipping industry gave up steam power for oil. The use of synthetic resins led to the expansion of the plastics industry. In 1912 the Royal Flying Corps came into existence to serve both the army and the navy and after the war in 1918 ex-bombers were used for the first commercial services from London to the Continent. Add to all this came the developments of the telephone, radio, television and the formation of the BBC in 1922. In medicine came the discovery of penicillin in 1928. All that over the short span of 33 years and a world war thrown in as well! Certainly by the time my father died in 1994 he had seen the most amazing changes over the course of his lifetime, which of course are all now taken for granted.

The late 1930's of course were troubled times. I am sure they would have been aware of the slow build up to the inevitable conflict in 1939. The newspapers, wireless and cinema newsreels must have been full of the possible threat from Germany. This however must have been a very happy time for Wilf and Mary. He was fully employed enjoying his life as a roof tiler and beginning to think of starting his own business. They were settling down in their new house and Mary was delighted to have Lizzie living next door. In 1936, Wilf was 32 and Mary 30, they decided the time was right to try and have children. Luckily for me I won the most important race of my life and finally appeared, no doubt squealing and kicking in February 1937.

2. Early years and the war.

I was christened William Austin Clarke, why William Austin? The "Austin" part of my Christian name is easy to explain. I am glad to say it had nothing to do with the Austin 7 car Dad bought two years later. I was named after a friend of Dad's called Austin Barnes who was a relative of Ivy Barnes, Mother's best friend as a girl. Strange to say I never recall meeting him, apparently he moved to Kidderminster during the war. The "William" is more difficult to explain. I often joke Dad named me after the famous white horse called "Billy" who rescued the very first cup final at Wembley stadium in 1923 when Bolton Wanderers beat West Ham United. I would like to think that is true but I never did ask him! They certainly called me Billy though.

What other important events were going on in the world in 1937 apart from my arrival? The Spanish Civil War was still taking its toll giving the German Luftwaffe useful bombing practice before more serious matters two years later. In May, King George 6th was crowned; this incidentally became the first outside television broadcast of the BBC. Also the same month the German airship Hindenberg exploded in flames when mooring to a mast at Lakehurst in America. Possibly more important to my future the "Dandy" the world's longest running comic was first published. Other "well-known" people born the same year included Anthony Hopkins, David Hockney, Shirley Bassey and Bobby Charlton, also whisper it quietly Saddam Hussein.

Later the same year there was another wedding in the family when Wilf's brother, Arthur was married to Edna Hollinshead on the 17th July. Edna came from Swinton and had met Arthur one day when they were travelling on a train to Manchester. Again the service was held at Walkden church, with the reception held at their house on Manchester Road. Wilf was best man as Arthur had been his best man eight years earlier. What smart dapper, chappies they look on the wedding photograph, wearing light coloured suits, a flower in the button hole, carrying white gloves and a trilby hat. Edna regally sat in the centre with a huge bunch of flowers, to her left her bridesmaid Phyllis her sister and her father George. There was quite a crowd photographed in the gardens, including one particularly bonny five-month old baby boy sat on his Grandmother's knee. I can't claim to remember the moment. Arthur and Edna's first child Sheila was born on the 12th August 1938.

I used to be taken around clutching my teddy in a large pram, more like a chariot actually. Mother used to push me down Beechfield Avenue onto West way and through a ginnel (Lancashire expression for small passage) to the track around the fields behind the estate. I can't think where they stored the pram in the house; it would have filled the hall. Sadly in the late 1950's when the Salford overspill development took place all the adjoining fields disappeared under new housing and my old football and cricket pitches disappeared.

In 1938 Wilf decided to leave his job with the roofing firm and branch out on his own, a big step. He employed two men he already knew and could trust. He was very wary after the poultry fiasco of the early 30's. They were a tall upright man from Walkden called Joe Moss and a small wiry character from Salford who I seem to remember went by the unlikely name of "Tiger." Wilf must have set out in business full of high hopes. Unfortunately he was just getting established when everything was knocked sideways by the onset of war. He didn't seem to have much luck. Having said that, he was lucky in that all three of them survived the war and re-surfaced in 1945. The business was restarted, they got together again and obviously there was plenty of work to be done. Many years later after Mother had died Dad came to stay with us at Bayston Hill, near Shrewsbury. We went for a drive in the car down to Ludlow. We were passing through Craven Arms when he pointed to a housing development alongside the main road. He said " I put the tiles on those in 1938." I had no idea he travelled so far to work.

Wilf at last got his own transport; this became a necessity when he started his own business. He purchased a small motorbike and sidecar. May recalled us turning up in Ardwick, Manchester, where she was then living with her mother and step-father; Mary in the sidecar with a young Billy on her knee. A year later he also bought his first car a small Austin 7.

New Years eve was always the occasion of a big family celebration at Lizzie's house; this tradition went on well into the 1960's. Lizzie was tiny and had a high-pitched cackle when she laughed, any party she was involved with, was bound to go with a swing. However I wonder how they all viewed the future when this celebration was held at the end of December 1938. I suspect with some trepidation. It was only just over twenty years since the end of the Great War (1914 -1918). Most families had suffered due to it and there was a genuine horror at the prospect of history repeating itself. That partly explained the euphoria when Chamberlain returned from Munich in May 1938 waving his worthless piece of paper.

In August 1939 the usual family holiday in North Wales was held. Mary, Lizzie, Wilf, Albert together with a spoilt little boy, set off. Given my family situation it is obvious why I was spoilt, I was doted on by Lizzie as well as my mother. In some ways it was unhealthy, I learned very early if I couldn't get what I wanted out of one mother I just nipped next door to try the other one. Years later mother told me their intention had always been to have two children. The war put paid to that and by 1945 she had gone through an early menopause, so an only child I remained. As I made my first sand pie on Barmouth beach, surrounded by my appreciative audience, cameras clicking, we were all unaware that it was just three short months to the abyss of conflict.

In September 1939 the hammer blow fell with the declaration of war on Germany. Wilf immediately volunteered, he was thirty-five. He tried the army but was turned down due to his leg disability. He went round to the RAF. Recruiting office and offered his services as an air gunner. He was turned down a second time, I am not sure why, possibly his age. It was years later when I was told this story. He had a narrow escape, his survival chances in Bomber Command would have been very low and they were clearly being very selective. His next try was to go round to the local Fire Station and see if they needed manpower. They did, and he remained a fireman for the duration of the war.

During 1941 and 1942 he was tested to the limit during the Blitz and the enormous fires that raged in both Manchester and Liverpool, particularly the devastating raid on Liverpool docks in May 1941. Liverpool was the most heavily bombed British city outside London. The city was a prime target for attack, because with Birkenhead, its twin across the Mersey it was the country's biggest west coast port. The German Luftwaffe made about eighty raids on Merseyside between August 1940 and January 1942. These reached their peak in the seven-night blitz in May 1941. "Blitz" incidentally was the word used by the Germans to describe their bombing campaign; the literal translation is "Lightning." Dad described it to me as " a ghastly experience." If you think about it, fighting a fire is bad enough, but doing it under heavy bombardment with buildings crashing down around you must have been sheer hell. For a lot of the time he would be living at home and reporting to his local fire station to check if he was needed. We never had a telephone at home so he had to be at the station in case of emergency. Sometimes he would be instructed to report immediately to Salford, Manchester or Liverpool. He could be there for a week or two depending on the situation.

Albert, Lizzies husband, was too old to enlist, so he joined the Home Guard. He was then a platelayer on the colliery railway. In May 1940 the Government broadcast a message asking for volunteers for the LDV (Local Defence Volunteers). In August 1940 Winston Churchill changed the name of the LDV to the Home Guard. This was formed when there was a real risk of invasion. I remember him around 1942 wearing his thick brown uniform holding his ancient rifle. It probably saw service in the Boer war! At least he did have some experience of shooting. I have a tarnished silver cake stand with the inscription on of -- " Presented by the P.R.H.A. for shooting, Xmas 1924, to Albert Williamson"

At this stage I was blissfully unaware what was happening in the early stages of the war. An obvious question would be "What is your earliest memory?" I cannot be sure exactly. When Dad acquired his car in early 1939 he erected a garage alongside the house. Sometime during late 1940 he decided to change the garage into an air raid shelter. The bombing had commenced in London. He didn't trust the Anderson shelters the Government were issuing, these were interlocking corrugated metal sections in a half circular shape. Tom Partington who lived in Swinton on the road to Manchester agreed to store our car in his garage. The car wasn't much use anyway; petrol was rationed and only issued to essential users, Doctors, armed services etc. The car was to remain there for six years. How long Dad took to build the air raid shelter I don't know, but that would be my first memory I think. He obtained some huge baulks of timber for the roof, which were supported on concrete blocks. Inside he built some cupboards and a bench round three sides wide enough to lie on. I am not sure it would have stood up to a 500lb bomb, but at least it gave us a sense of security and it certainly gave Dad something to do. Inside it felt quite cosy, I liked going there and was usually given some new comics, which was a big attraction. I can remember being woken in the night after the air raid siren had gone off and being rushed downstairs clutching my pillow, to get into the shelter quickly. It was very dim inside, with the flickering shadows from the oil lamp and the menacing drone overhead from the German Bombers on their way to Manchester or Liverpool. You could hear our guns in the distance blasting up into the sky; I don't suppose they ever hit anything. It wasn't easy sleeping on the hard bench with a few blankets thrown over and it was very cold in winter. Lizzie and Albert also came into our shelter. The other thing they did every night was to turn the two chairs and sofa we had in the lounge on their side and push them together, which formed a little cave. This was in the event of not having time to get to the shelter; it would at least have given some protection from flying glass. I suppose I must have been frightened but it became something you got used to, often night after night. Thankfully Beechfield Avenue escaped the bombing, but the damage in nearby Salford and Manchester was extensive and many people were killed. The glow of fires in the sky from Manchester could clearly be seen after major air raids.

We had to be careful over any chink of light escaping from the house at night. A strict blackout curfew was imposed. When the curtains were drawn, mother would always go outside to check. ARP men patrolled the streets (Air Raid Patrol) they would wander around in the total blackness checking for any signs of light escaping. People became neurotic about this. The fear was that the light from a 40-watt light bulb might act as a magnet to the hordes of Junkers Bombers overhead. Pretty unlikely, but it caused great concern nevertheless. If there was a knock on the door late at night and a shout you knew immediately you were in for a telling off. Driving a vehicle at night under blackout conditions must have been a nightmare; there were probably many accidents.

Looking back over sixty years it is hard to appreciate how difficult things were during the war. There was an enormous amount of bureaucracy for the most basic things. A National Registration of the whole population was held in September 1939. This served many purposes, including the dreaded call-up to the services. Anyone not registered did not get two of the essentials of wartime life - an Identity Card and a Ration Book. In order to buy food mother would have to go to a shop clutching her Ration book and register with that retailer. Each commodity, meat, bacon, butter etc had a counterfoil determining the quantity she could buy each week. Having bought some goods, the counterfoil was removed for that item and taken by the retailer, which would be it for the week. The actual quantities available per person per week varied from time to time but was typically 2oz of butter, 1oz of cheese, 1 egg, 2pints of milk and so on. It was pretty frugal stuff. It seemed to me the scope for fiddling was enormous and it went on! Rationing clearly must have caused dietary deficiencies; there was also a shortage of fresh fruit and vegetables.

During the war I had constant problems with boils. I never hear now of anyone suffering from that condition. I dreaded Mother saying, "Sorry Billy, it needs a poultice." A poultice was a sticky compound scraped from a tin, heated in a pan, and put on a piece of lint. This was the applied immediately onto the boil, in theory to draw out the septic. I always howled in pain at the heat, it was a bit like branding cattle! I remember once Mother saying, we were going round to see a lady who had a cure for boils. Oh yes! We set off walking and arrived at a small old terraced house. It didn't look like the surgery of an eminent physician. We went inside and waited in the lounge while the witch went to her cauldron in the kitchen. I could hear lots of scraping and stirring noises before she finally emerged carrying a tall glass filled with a foaming yellow substance. I could see bits of eggshells floating on the surface. " Cum on then lad, drink up" I was instructed. Ugh. I drank it and was promptly sick. That was that, it was back to the poultices. I still wonder if that cost mother any money.

Growing up in Beechfield Avenue during the war, for me had many advantages. The road was an ideal playground, it was perfectly safe and there were no vehicles. The only danger was the regular visit by the "rag and bone" man with his horse and cart. He announced his arrival by ringing a big bell anyway so the chances of being hit by him were pretty small. He would take away any clothes or old junk, in exchange for a "Donkey stone." This was a small slab of a soft stone used for rubbing over the doorstep to clean it. Lancashire housewives at that time seem to have had a phobia about the cleanliness of the doorstep. The other great attraction of living there for me was an endless supply of friends to play with. I certainly never felt like an only child, I must have been one of at least fifty. I am sure half the time mother didn't know where I was. Apart from playing outside there were endless houses to disappear into. This did not just apply to Beechfield Avenue but to the adjoining streets of Dearden Avenue, Thirlmere Drive and Coniston Avenue. "Have you seen my Billy?" became a familiar refrain! Mother was a worrier, you rarely saw her relax and she was always on the go. My first "girlfriend" was Mary Higson, known as "Molly" who lived opposite. We ended up going to infants school on the same day in 1942 and later in 1948 the same Grammar school, however the childhood romance didn't blossom, as they rarely do.

After the bombing of London commenced in late 1940, the Government took the decision to evacuate as many children as possible from the capital. There was an appeal on the radio for volunteers to provide homes. Lizzie and Albert decided to take an evacuee into their home and a young girl aged around six duly appeared. She was from Shepherds Bush. I cannot remember a great deal about her or how long she stayed, I was only three at that time. I don't think it was much more than a year. Doubtless when she appeared she would have been clutching her gas mask in its cardboard box. They were standard issue to all schoolchildren at the beginning of the war. When the bombing eased off, she went back home. She was to return however in 1949 for a holiday and there was to be an odd sequel later.

May recalled one dreadful experience in 1940 she was thirteen at the time. She had been visiting Beechfield Avenue with Annie her mother just before Christmas on Sunday December 22nd and they left to catch the 6pm bus back to Manchester at the bottom of Cleggs Lane. What they did not realise was the Manchester Blitz was about to begin that evening. As they were waiting, the wail of the air raid siren could be heard. They got on the bus with an RAF man and his girlfriend wearing a green coat who had been visiting next door to our house. Mother told May later she knew them both, the RAF man was related to Mr and Mrs Hampson and the girl was called Doreen Gill who came from Manchester. When the bus arrived the driver said that due to the air raid he was driving straight to Manchester and not stopping again, why they carried on is quite beyond me. As they approached central Manchester it was like an inferno, everywhere buildings ablaze and the constant crashing sound of falling masonry. May remembers the bus driver constantly swerving to avoid rubble in the road. The bus eventually made it to the stop under Greengates arches below the Exchange and Victoria stations. They all got off the bus and walked out to find all the nearby buildings on fire. They went to shelter under an arch but the RAF man and his girl decided to go back and sit on the bus until the all clear sounded. A few moments later a bomb crashed onto the railway, the arch collapsed onto the bus below killing the two people. Not surprisingly there was no connection to Ardwick and May and Annie had to walk home. This meant walking through the city centre and must have resembled a scene from "Dante's Inferno" with flames everywhere. They were worried if their house would be standing when they finally arrived, luckily it was. Some months after typing this I sent a copy to an old friend, Keith Seddon who I had been at Farnworth Grammar School with. To my amazement he later sent me a dramatic photograph of the flattened bus that May had been on showing clearly the gaping hole above through the arch structure. I sent a copy to her and she could hardly believe what she was looking at!

My Mother was horrified to hear this story and invited May to come and live with us for a couple of weeks immediately after Christmas to give her a break from the bombing. May remembers two things from this period. Dad was out fighting fires on New Years Eve and Mother wouldn't let anyone open the front door the next day until he returned. They had this odd custom that the head of the house should "Let the New Year in." The other thing she recalled was I kept asking her to read a book over and over again, presumably one I had for Christmas. It was called, "Prince Sticky Fingers." I can't remember that at all but it has stuck in May's mind. I bet I was a real pain at the age of four!
One memory during the early part of the war, I was out as usual playing on the road when I saw two lads running down the avenue looking very excited. What's going on I wondered? I ran after them to be told some very exciting news; a fighter plane had crashed nearby. We ran across some fields and the memory of my first sight of that plane is vivid. It had nose-dived into a grassy bank straight across the Ashton field Colliery railway line with its tail sticking in the air. The plane looked much bigger than I expected, I had seen Spitfires and Hurricanes flying over but they seemed small. By the time we arrived there was no sign of the pilot. I had written this paragraph when several weeks later I came across a report of the plane crash on the Internet. The incident occurred on the 13th February 1941 just before my fourth birthday. The plane was Hawker Hurricane No P3588 flown by Pilot Officer John F. Finnis. He was from unit 229 squadron based at Speke and was on a routine air patrol over the Manchester area. The cause of the crash was given as engine failure caused by an air lock when the pilot failed to change tanks soon enough. He was possibly giving fighter cover to King George V1 and Queen Elizabeth who were visiting Manchester that day. After the crash RAF armourers arrived to remove the guns and belts of ammunition. The Pilot was classified as badly injured but he survived and eventually commanded a squadron in the Western Desert in 1942.

What was 11, Beechfield Avenue like? A big improvement on Sandwich Street I am sure. For a start there was a garden at the front and the back and wonder of wonders, a bathroom. We lived at the end of the terrace of four dwellings. This was an enormous advantage as we had a drive up the side, enabling Dad to erect a garage set back into the rear garden. The two properties in the centre of the block were hard done by in this respect. There was a narrow passage in the centre to give access for pedestrians to go through and get to the rear door, no access for vehicles at all. The properties at the end had the rear door on the side. Internally there was a large well-lit lounge, the full depth of the house with windows at each end, a small kitchen and pantry off. The hall contained the staircase with a small cupboard under. Mother used to tell me that was where she would hide me if the German's came. She wasn't joking either, that possibility was on everyone's mind. Upstairs there was the bathroom incorporating a bath, washbasin and toilet, with three bedrooms. One was very small and they always called it the "box room." In our block, the Ogden's lived at the opposite end; they had two boys, Terry who was my age and a younger brother. Terry was one of "our gang" and a good little goalkeeper to boot. Next door to them, came the Shufflebottoms. What a wonderful name! Mrs.Shufflebottom lived with her four children, Freda the eldest, Brenda about my age, Roger and Raymond. Roger became a good friend and was a regular in the football kickabouts. Some years later Mrs Shufflebottom remarried and their names changed to Dickox. That lady should have met a Mr. Smith! Next door to us came a rarity, an elderly couple, Mr.and Mrs. Hampson who were well into there seventies. Most occupants of the avenue were young with small children and the Hampson's must have found it noisy and difficult. Sometimes they could be awkward and the regular cry of "Please could we have our ball back" was not answered too kindly. It sounded a bit like "Bugger off." to me, all good fun.

Around this time just before Christmas my mother got very annoyed with young Terry Robinson who lived opposite. He had gleefully informed me, " Don't be so daft, Billy lad, theer's nivver a Father Christmas, it's thee Dad!" She wasn't best pleased.

1942, was an important year for me, I started school. I attended St. Paul's infant's school; adjoining the junior school. Both of the buildings were next door to St. Paul's Peel church located on Manchester Road. The infant school was a low brick building, built much later than the junior school and adjoined Seddons yard. Memories of life at the infant school are rather vague. I can remember walking down Cleggs Lane that very first morning with mother. If I made a fuss and cried when she left, I cannot remember, I hope I didn't. I knew quite a few children there and several of my pals from Beechfield Avenue were starting at the same time. That must have helped me.

Looking at pictures of the time I was a sweet looking lad (although I say it myself!) with very blonde hair and more than a suspicion of being knock-kneed. Pictures taken at school over the next two or three years show me with a big grin on my face, so I couldn't have been that unhappy.

I can recall a few odd memories of my two years there. Dear old Miss Brady, I can still remember her. She was a small thin woman of uncertain age, who liked nothing better than swishing the cane in front of terrified six year olds. Woe betide if you couldn't remember your two times table! One day I had a nasty accident; I was pushed or fell into the school railings alongside the playground, badly knocking my cheekbone. I remember being rushed off to see the Doctor; luckily there wasn't any lasting damage although mother always said that was how dimples appeared on my cheeks. When I was seven there was a school Christmas concert in which I had a starring role. At least my mother, bursting with pride thought I was a star. I had to sing a solo. Parry's "Jerusalem" I can remember the wonderful words by William Blake still, " And did those feet in ancient times; walk upon England's mountain green, and did the Holy Lamb of God…etc" She applauded vigorously anyway.

During 1942 Wilf was sent away on a course with the Fire Service. That must have been interesting for him. He travelled down to Saltdean, Sussex in July. The course was designed to improve the men's efficiency in the use of Breathing Apparatus. This equipment was essential in the poisonous atmosphere of a smoke filled room. Photographs from the course show about fifty smartly dressed firemen with tunic buttons gleaming and shiny shoes, a smiling Wilf amongst them. He sent a couple of postcards. On the first one he wrote

"Dear Mary and Billy,
I got your second letter this morning and Billy's too. I have not had time to write a letter today, we have had seven or eight lectures in the past two days in addition to drills. This is a photo of one of our drill grounds with the college in the background.
So long Wilf x and one for Billy x"

I like the " so long " bit. The second one was proof that I had a rabbit in July 1942.

Just another week to go, and if the weather keeps like this I'll be just a greasy spot. How's the rabbit Billy I'm just dying to see it. So long Wilf xx"

In April 1943, Arthur, Wilf's brother and his wife Edna had a little boy, George. With Sheila their first child I now had two cousins. They lived at Grayson Road in Little Hulton. It wasn't too far away from Beechfield Avenue and over the next few years I used to walk over the fields to go and play with them.

During the summer of 1944, the Germans, produced their new terror weapons, rocket attacks on London. The V1, known as the doodle- bug appeared in June 1944. Over 9,000 were fired but only a quarter of these landed but still caused extensive damage. Later in September a still more terrifying rocket was launched, the V2. There was no defence against this and over 1,000 landed in a last ditch attack on London. As a result of the new situation, a national appeal was made in October for anyone with building experience to come to London, to help in a building repair programme. Because of his roof tiling background Wilf was released from the Fire Service and instructed to report to London immediately. This was a hazardous time with the V2 rockets still coming down on a regular basis. He was involved in at least one near miss when several people were killed in a nearby building. He told me years later he had never been so frightened in all his life, more so than on Liverpool docks. It was the speed and surprise of the V2 attacks that worried people.

In March 1945, mother and I set off to London to visit him. This was my first visit to London at the age of eight and I found the train journey very exciting. The war had still not finished but only the odd rocket was still appearing. By this stage the allies were over-running the mobile launch sites in Northern Europe and the danger was greatly reduced. It was wonderful to see Dad again. I can remember staying in a bed and breakfast place; that was a novelty for us. I was constantly looking upwards for rockets in the sky luckily I never saw one. What I did see clearly though was the extensive damage to the Capital. Dad remained working in London until the summer before he was released to return home.

On the 8th May 1945 Winston Churchill announced the end of the war with Germany. In a broadcast from the cabinet room at number 10 he said that the ceasefire had been signed at the American advanced Headquarters in Rheims. Huge crowds many of them dressed in red, white, and blue gathered outside Buckingham Palace and cheered as the King, Queen, the two princesses and eventually Winston Churchill came out onto the balcony. A victory parade was later held through the streets of London on the 10th August 1945 when once again huge crowds of cheering, flag-waving crowds took to the streets. Strangely I have no recall of the final days of the war; there were no street parties in Beechfield Avenue as there were elsewhere. One thing I can be sure about we were all very pleased and couldn't wait to get Dad back home.

3. 1945 to 1948. End of the War and Junior School.

In July 1945 a General election was held. Many assumed after his triumph during the war that Churchill would naturally be re-elected. There were no sophisticated advanced polls in those days to give an indication of the national mood. When the results were announced Labour under Clement Attlee had won by a landslide and Churchill was consigned to the opposition benches. There was no doubt that the people did not want a return to the politics of the 1930's and there was a powerful feeling for change. Churchill was devastated by the result. I was eight at the time and have no memory at all of it. I bet Dad was one of the few to vote Conservative.

When Dad eventually returned from London he promptly began work on restoring the air raid shelter back to a garage. I don't think they worried about planning permission too much. He contacted Joe and Tiger and the roof tiling business was soon back on track. The one thing I can recall with great excitement was when we went over to Swinton to finally open up Tom Partington's garage and view "our" car. I had never seen it before. It looked magnificent to me and amazingly it started the first time the key was turned. I suspect Tom had been keeping an eye on it. Whenever I see an old Austin 7 chugging along today I remember that moment, funnily enough I saw one parked in Ash recently.

My own world was also changing around this same time. I am not sure of exact dates here but both events must be around the end of the war. Firstly mother's parents, James and Elizabeth moved over from Sandwich Street to live with us and I moved up from the infant's school to the junior. I can remember clearly the day my grandparents moved. I went over with Mother and Dad to Sandwich Street to help them pack and clean up. There was no large removal vehicle, all their belongings were placed onto a small horse and cart; clearly they didn't bring any furniture with them. This was a huge change in our household, they moved into the back bedroom and I was put into the box room. What did I think about all this? Children of eight are very self-centred, and I suppose I wasn't too happy about it at all. My Grandparents were both eighty and it wasn't easy for them also and I suppose an uneasy truce was maintained. The one thing I definitely did not like was their dammed parrot called Laura. She must have squawked her little green head off on the horse and cart trip. I wish she had, I found her a pain, literally. At first it was a great novelty until my little fingers went near the cage, SNAP went the beak and I screamed. Laura was quite a chatterbox and we soon found out she had a good line in swearing. I looked at my Grandmother and Grandfather with new interest after I heard that.

Moving up to the junior school was a very easy transition, I was used to walking daily down Cleggs Lane to the building anyway. The Headmaster was called Mr.Gibson, a big burly man and I took a fancy to his daughter Judith who was at the school. One great thing for me, I was now involved in organised sport. We had several afternoons each week on a nearby playing field and one of the teachers supervised our football and cricket sessions. This was my first experience of proper organised team sport; it was not to be the last. I didn't object to any of the staff as I recall, thankfully there was nobody quite like Miss Brady. I soon got into trouble though, which was unfortunate as the cane was used liberally. The school like most old Victorian buildings had outside toilets. For some strange reason one day, I was accused with another lad of removing the outside door to the girl's toilet from its hinges. It was quite a short interview with Mr. Gibson before the cane was produced. I did notice with some apprehension he appeared to have quite strong forearms; Swish, Swish. He was a practiced performer and we finally trudged out with tears in our eyes. Did I do it? I can't remember, honest M'Lud. One thing I definitely did like doing was pulling Dorothy Haslam's pigtails. She used to sit just in front of me and it was simply too tempting. Nearly fifty years later in 1994 I was standing in St Paul's Churchyard during the ashes ceremony after Dad had died. We had had the service in church and were standing around the grave chatting after his ashes had been spread. A grey haired elderly lady came up to me and said, "You used to pull my pigtails at school" It was Dorothy and I hadn't seen her since 1948.

Life at junior school cannot have been all trouble and strife. I must have made some progress as I eventually managed to pass the 11+ exams. Of the daily routine, or how I coped with the work I cannot remember a great deal. I never stayed for school dinners and always went home. This pattern continued even when I was at Grammar school. What I can still remember, are silly things like the toilet paper rules; if you were taken short during a lesson, up went your hand. " Yes Billy, what is it?" ……. " Want to go to the toilet Miss." ……. Next came the delicately phrased question, " Do you require toilet paper Billy?"………. " Yes please Miss." Miss would then halt the lesson, unlock a cupboard door and carefully take out a toilet roll. Slowly she tore off one piece and gravely handed it over. Asking for two pieces was a treasonable offence, punishable by the cane. Hard times, as Charles Dickens once wrote.
One sight you would never see today, frequently I would go to school wearing clogs. They were made of very stiff leather and very uncomfortable. They had strips of iron underneath so you could hardly creep up on someone unawares. If you pulled your shoe sharply across the floor, the metal bars could create a spark. Inevitably there were always competitions to see who could make the biggest spark, which helped considerably to wear them out.

One big event of my junior school days was my one and only fight. I have no idea what triggered this. Roland Grimshaw clearly didn't like me and made that pretty plain. After months of niggling I was challenged to a fight. I accepted so I obviously didn't like him either. This was not any sudden punch up; the time and place were arranged in advance. The details were whispered around the school with much anticipation. It must have been summer, because the event took place after school finished. A crowd of us walked across the main road, up past some housing to a field behind, and soon the action began. I adopted a classical boxing stance that I had seen in my comics. Right fist up by my jaw, left fist extended for the jab. Roland was a small skinny lad, even smaller than me but very hyperactive and aggressive. He rushed in like a madman arms whirling, all the kids watching were screaming. He ran straight into my extended fist and collapsed in a heap. He was a bit more wary now and I got more confident. I cannot remember how long it lasted but I soon got the hang of leaping on him when he was down and giving him the odd bash. Eventually he gave up and skulked off. Much cheering for me, I felt like a hero! There were two sequels to this. The next day the school "cock" challenged me. He was the unbeaten school heavyweight champion. I refused the offer this time and explained I was retiring forever, also unbeaten. The other result was that Roland wasn't satisfied and used to hang around the end of our street threatening retribution. I stayed in for a time, hiding, which mother couldn't understand, eventually he gave up and that was the end of my fighting career. "Billy's a basher, yes he is, only joking."

Events recalled in 1946. May was married at St. Mathew's church, Ardwick to Johnny Smith. Mother and Dad went to the wedding, also Albert and Lizzie. May cannot remember if I was there or not. Everybody liked Johnny, a happy go lucky man who spoke in a high-pitched voice. He was a great favourite of my mother as he always insisted on getting tea ready when they came to visit Beechfield Avenue. Later that year their first child Hazel was born, much to the great delight of Mother and Lizzie, who had looked after May in 1927 when she was a baby. Mother offered May my pram and cot, which were gratefully accepted, she asked May to, "look after them." Many years later in 1962 when our eldest daughter Emma was born, May asked Mother if we would like the cot back, she still had it carefully stored. The cot came back to me and over the next nineteen years we had another six children use it. I don't know what they paid for it in 1937, but we certainly had our moneys worth. Also in 1946 a party was held at Beechfield Avenue for the Golden Wedding celebration of Dad's parents Arthur and Elizabeth with all the family present. Sadly his father Arthur who had a lovely disposition had gone blind some years before and they were now living with Doris and Sam at Tonge Moor.

Around this time also I was to experience one of those earth- shattering moments that you never forget. I can remember the exact spot, walking down the side of the junior school building with another lad. He suddenly pulled something from his pocket and said, "Have you ever seen one of these?" I stared in amazement; it was bright yellow and a funny shape. This was my first sight of a banana. He peeled it and gave me a piece; I liked it. I saw an advert on TV the other day showing an old lady climbing into a helicopter, followed by the caption, "When did you do something for the first time?" I thought of eating that banana.

I always was a great reader. We had a glass-fronted bookcase in the lounge where Dad kept all his encyclopaedias. My favourites were " The Wonderland of Knowledge." volumes. I devoured them, I thought they were marvellous and still do for that matter and they are on my shelves today. Comics were very important to me also. There was a great range available in the late 40's, "Beano," "Dandy," "Film Fun," "Radio Fun." These were all comic strips in cartoon form and I read the lot. I used to be regularly running to the Newsagent on the corner of Cleggs Lane getting them. A regular chore was also buying "Woodbines" cigarettes for Albert and "St. Bruno" tobacco for Dad who smoked a pipe. As I got older I graduated to reading "Rover," "Hotspur," "Wizard," "Adventure" and "Champion." These had solid text and stories were always about sport or adventure and frequently the war. I particularly used to enjoy reading in the Wizard about "Wilson" the athlete who lived in a cave up in the mountains, he would appear every few years and win some gold medals for Britain at the Olympic games. Strangely he always wore a black leotard. Louise my daughter laughed at this when she read it and rang to ask if I had made it up. She checked on the Internet and the facts (or more accurately the fiction) were even funnier. The Wizard comic ran from 1922 to 1963 and Wilson over all these years was it's sports superstar. The description of him was as follows, "He was born in 1795 and ran away from home aged 14 determined to improve his physique far beyond human levels. He lived rough on Ambleside Moor and there he met a hermit who told him the secret of long life. By 1939 Wilson's all round sports achievements wearing his black woollen body suit had amazed the world. He served in the RAF during the war as a fighter pilot and scored 25 kills. He then worked to rehabilitate disabled servicemen before training athletes for the 1948 Olympic games in London. After stirring adventures in Africa, Wilson conquered Everest alone in 1951, two years before Hilary and Tensing. He also ran a mile in three minutes though this was across country without official timing." What a man! I loved it when Mother took me on the bus to Bolton shopping. There was a large indoor market and I always made a beeline for a stall that sold American comics. Big glossy things with fantastic coloured illustrations, I thought they were amazing. About this time I registered at Little Hulton Library by the side of Peel School. This was paradise, all those books, for free, and so began a life long love affair with libraries.

After the war, my Auntie Doris and Sam moved up to Tonge Moor on the outskirts of Bolton to run a Fish and Chip shop. The premises were at the end of a long stone built terrace, situated on Tonge Moor Road near the Starkie Arms pub. The shop had clearly been converted from a house, the front room now being the cooking and serving area. In the back garden under a glazed canopy was a large potato-peeling machine, which made a thunderous noise when in use. On a visit recently I was very pleased to see the terrace still survives although the old shop is back to a private house again. I always enjoyed going to visit; the fish and chips were good. To get there we would take a trolley bus to Farnworth, a tram to Bolton, then another tram from Bolton to Tonge Moor. One day in 1947 I was travelling with my mother just leaving Bolton heading for Tonge Moor. We were ascending an incline on Folds road when a tram coming down the hill in the opposite direction came off the tracks and hit us broadside on. We were very lucky; our tram was thrown off the rails, straddled the tracks at an angle but remained upright. The other tram crashed over on its side and was completely wrecked. Thirty-one people including some children were injured many being taken to Hospital. There is a newspaper cutting with a picture of the accident in the photo albums. We were both a bit shook up but clearly had got off lightly.
I cannot remember the date but James, my grandfather passed away around this time. I had got used to living with them and was sad when it happened. He used to spend most of the day living in the bedroom upstairs; he was not well for some time before he died. I still have a brass German shell case with the date on the bottom of "Mai 1916". He actually picked that up on the battlefield.

I joined the cubs soon after the war and thought it was great; we met in Peel Junior School. The man who ran the cubs was Tom Boydell, a tall fair-haired man with a ruddy complexion who had a farm at the top of Cleggs Lane. I also started to attend Church and Sunday school every week. The Sunday school was held in my junior school; it felt a bit odd going in on Sunday as well as during the week. I became friends at this time with a lad from Hulton West Council School called Frank Coucill. Frank was also in the cubs and we were in the same Sunday school class, he lived at 36 Oakfield Drive close to the school and Little Hulton Cricket ground. I started to go round to his house doubtless to play football. In my final year at Junior School I remember we played a football match against Hulton West on their pitch. Frank was playing for the opposition and they had a lad called Alan Lindop in goal, he also ended up at Farnworth Grammar School. We won 1-0 and if I close my eyes now I can still see my shot curling into the top corner of the goal. One of the more important moments of my life!

Like my parents before me I ended up on the annual Whitsun church walk around the parish boundaries. The traditional "Procession of Witness" has long been celebrated throughout the North West. The earliest known walks can be traced back to Manchester around 1800 and they sprang from the Sunday School movement first pioneered in 1784. I have a couple of photographs taken in 1947; one shows a group of cubs in our back garden holding the cub flag prior to setting out on the walk. They were all pals of mine who lived in Beechfield Avenue, Terry Robinson, Roger Shufflebottom, and Terry Ogden. Another picture shows us on the walk the same day, the guides were just in front of us and Freda Shufflebottom can be seen, Beechfield Avenue was well represented.

1948 was a critical year for my life. It didn't make sense to me then, and it makes even less sense now, that one examination could have had such an effect. It seemed to be a stark choice, pass the eleven plus and you were on the way up, fail and you really were heading fast in the opposite direction. In those days once you were allocated your place it was very difficult to cross the line at a later stage. Everything hinged on one day. It was obvious Mother and Dad were both very worried about it, as the build up to the examinations drew near. There were several Grammar schools in the area, the nearest being at Farnworth, the one I wanted to attend. Not every child was given the opportunity to sit the exam, so in one sense by actually getting in the room and looking at the exam paper, you had overcome the first hurdle. It was decided I would go into three examinations, Bolton School, Canon Slade Grammar School in Bolton and Farnworth Grammar School. That was the order I took the exams, which gave me some practice before taking the one I wanted to pass. I had no hope at all of passing at Bolton School. It was a fee-paying school, and they allowed a few places on scholarship. Going to the impressive buildings at the posh end of town was very intimidating for me and I was pleased to get away. I duly failed. The next attempt was Canon Slade. This was a Lancashire Education Committee school exactly like Farnworth; the buildings were on a busy main street in the centre of the town. I still didn't make it and was rejected again. It was all down to the final one. Was I nervous? I can't really remember, but one day the results were announced in School and I had passed. What a relief! I remember one girl who had been regarded as a certainty to pass had failed and she was in floods of tears. May told me one amusing story. Apparently soon after the news came that I had passed, my mother met one of my junior schoolteachers, Mrs Crompton who said, "It's a waste of time sending your Billy to the Grammar school, he'll never make it." Mother was a bit upset! Years later when I got my degree at Sheffield she bumped into the same teacher and gleefully told her the news. She said to May, " I did enjoy that"

The late forties was the heyday of the cinema. Television was still a few years away and cinemas were regularly packed out. Going with my parents every Saturday night was a weekly ritual. The newspaper would be carefully scrutinised before the choice was made. There were an enormous number of cinemas in striking range. Walkden had two, Farnworth five and there were many more in Bolton. Generally they seemed to favour the Ritz in Peel Street, Farnworth. We went on the trolly bus and always had to go early to get near the front of the queue. It was not uncommon to arrive to find the queue down to the end of the street, and sometimes we never even got in. There was usually the main film together with a newsreel and a smaller supporting film often a comedy, Laurel and Hardy, The Three Stooges etc. It was all then such a part of daily life, I never dreamt it could change. Twenty years later you would not find cinema queues the length of the street. Saturday really was Cinema day for me, for in the morning I went to Walkden Palace to the children's Cinema Club. That was magic, there were some cartoons but the real attraction was the "serial," a film in parts when you were left in suspense as to what was going to happen next. I couldn't wait for Saturday morning to come round! My favourite was always "Flash Gordon" played by Buster Crabbe and his enemy "Ming the Merciless" of Mongo. The Flash Gordon films had such wonderful titles " The planet of Peril," " The Tunnel of Terror" or "Captured by Shark Men." Deep sigh; even typing this is making me go all-wistful.

4. 1948 to 1955. Farnworth Grammar School.

Early in 1948 Wilf decided to change his car for an old Hillman and it was decided in spring we would take a holiday in Kent. His old pal Stan Nightingale and wife Edith had moved south the year before. Stan had been in the Navy during the war and wanted to resume his career as a Pharmacist. He had been given the opportunity to work in a chemist shop in Edenbridge. Travelling so far by car to me seemed like a journey to the other side of the moon. Little did I know then that fifty years later I would also be living in Kent. One bright sunny morning we all set off, car loaded, Mother and Dad in the front, me on the back seat, remember there were no motorways, he didn't know the way and the car was pretty unreliable. We got lost several times and I remember we ended up going round and round in circles on the outskirts of Birmingham. About fourteen hours later we turned the corner into Hilders Lane, Edenbridge to be met by a very worried Stan and Edith wondering where we were. We had a lovely holiday, travelling around various seaside resorts on the south coast. I particularly remember lying down looking at the lighthouse from the top of Beachy Head, with Dad holding my legs. Only a few weeks ago I was passing through Edenbridge and called to look at Hilders Lane. It is still exactly as I remembered it in 1948.

At the age of eleven I moved up to the Scouts, we met in the stable block alongside the vicarage on Manchester Road. A small energetic man called Billy Haslam was Akela or leader; he had a daughter with pigtails by the way. During my first summer with the scouts we went to a camp near Whitchurch in Shropshire for a week. We set off, all the lads standing in the back of open top lorries. We were based at Gredington Park owned by Lord Kenyon; he also owned a lot of land around Peel Church in Little Hulton. Our four large tents were pitched in a clearing in a wood. For me it was all very exciting, it was the first time I had ever stayed away from home. My only recollection of that week is of Dennis Jackson getting badly stung by wasps and sitting under a large tree watching a cricket match between the older scouts and some of the estate workers. Little did I realise I would eventually spend thirty three years of my life living in Shropshire and would end up designing major extensions to Whitchurch Grammar school one day.

In July 1948 the Olympic games were held at Wembley in London. This was a huge national event but had little impact on me. It was actually the first Olympics to be televised but there were few sets available. Compared with today the event was simple and spartan. We didn't perform very well and it was the first time the host nation had not finished in the top ten in the medals table. I remember seeing highlights on the cinema newsreels and listening on the radio to events. The star of the games was the Dutch sprinter Fanny Blankers-Koen who won four Gold medals. I am adding this paragraph in on the day it has just been announced London is to stage the Games in 2012. Hopefully I will still be around to attend next time.

In September 1948 I began life at Farnworth Grammar School. I was to attend here for the next seven years. The first day anywhere is always a bit nerve wracking and this was no exception. I was kitted out in new clothes, from the bright green cap, blazer, tie and shiny black shoes. Farnworth is around five miles from Little Hulton, which meant a trolley bus ride and then a walk down Market Street to the large, quite imposing, red brick building. As soon as I entered the school gates the fun began. There was a gang of older lads waiting to pounce on newcomers. They were all shouting " Monkey Run" whatever that meant, I soon found out. Alongside the playground one of the classrooms was at a lower level, a retaining wall had been built which in effect created a pit alongside the classroom wall. Naturally all first years were flung into the pit to be jeered at, what a rabble I thought. A year later I was one of the rabble doing the jeering. I was placed in Form 3b, where there were thirty pupils, of which thirteen were boys. I was delighted to find Frank Coucill also in the same class so I had a friend immediately, which always helps. The Headmaster, Mr Wilson was a haggard looking man who was in his thirty-fifth year teaching at the school. I wondered if he was related to my hero in the "Wizard" comic. No wonder he was haggard he had started teaching at the school in 1912 and was eventually to retire in 1950. Our form teacher Mr Wotton; was also starting that day, although he missed being thrown into the pit. He created a sensation about five years later by marrying a girl who had left sixth form the year before.

I have a photograph of my first form taken in 1948 by Mr. Wotton. Every boy wears short trousers, which was normal for that time. Try putting an eleven-year-old boy in short trousers today and see the reaction. Going into long trousers was considered a significant step and usually occurred then around the age of thirteen. I remember my first long pair had a shilling in the pocket, which pleased me enormously.

The early days were spent getting to know everybody and the basic geography of the place. It seemed huge after my Junior School, the 6th form lads looked equally huge. Everything was very formal, teachers wore gowns all the time and when they entered a classroom all pupils had to stand to attention. A few of the rules I found strange, outside school during the week it was necessary to wear full uniform, caps, ties etc. Failure to do so meant detention if you were spotted, eating ice cream outside was also a punishable offence. I soon made more friends. Nice to say mainly thanks to the Internet I am still in touch with some of them, Frank Coucill, Edwin Knight, Alan Cockshaw, Les Rothwell, Alan Potts, Audrey Barlow, Keith Seddon and Alan Birtles. My half cousin Harry Baggs also started with me on the same day but was placed in a different form, Harry and I are also still in contact. There was a morning assembly at which hymns were sung and a lesson read with announcements by the Headmaster. It all seemed very strange. What didn't seem strange were the chaotic games of football at break times. The goals were the entrances to the outside toilets and I felt quite at home scurrying round after the ball, lots of elbows flying and shoving! I certainly didn't like the homework, which was a new experience. I needed a bit of pushing by Mother often to get things done. The best thing about School for me as you would expect were the games periods, I couldn't wait to wear that green and black football shirt. We also had a Gymnasium, which I enjoyed although I was a bit of a chicken when it came to vaulting over the high horse; my lack of height didn't help me with that. Around the back of the Gymnasium were some large flank walls sticking out. Apparently they had been built as fives courts but the game was never played. They were now used as smoking dens and the odd assignation with willing young ladies. Not with me I hasten to add.

I had only been there a few weeks when I heard some lads in a corridor muttering something about "Cops." This sounded exciting, particularly if the police were involved. I was curious and listened carefully to what they were talking about. I had misunderstood, but overhearing that conversation started me on a new hobby that kept me happy for the next four or five years. Train Spotting. The lads were discussing the new trains they had seen that weekend. A "cop" was a new entry in the book. Even better these lads every night went down to the railway line near the school playing fields, to see the Manchester to Glasgow express, that passed by around 4-30 pm. I asked if I could go with them and they agreed. We went to stand on a bridge, looking back towards Bolton. There was a series of bridges crossing over in the distance so you could only see a relatively short length of track. There was a signal poking above the bridges, excitement mounted as it clanked down. I could see great clouds of steam in the distance and hear the roar as the train passed under the bridges. We ran quickly round to the wooden fence alongside the track. It was an incredible sight to see the great iron monster racing by, belching great plumes of steam. I had never seen a main line express so close at high speed. It was an amazing sight. The old hands with me seemed very blasé about it all; to them it was a disappointment as the engine was a regular on the run. That was it, the next weekend my pocket money went on an " Ian Allen LMS Spotters Book" My world had changed.

My world was changing in other directions as well. Opposite to us in Beechfield Avenue lived Wyn and Ernie Cartwright, they had moved into the Avenue in 1947. Wyn came from West Hartlepool in the North East and she became good friends with mother and Lizzie. Ernie came from Astley near Leigh, before the war he had been a spinner. Afterwards he was a colliery weigh-man at Brackley pit where Albert also worked. Ernie was a keen football fan and regularly went to watch Bolton Wanderers. I cannot remember how it was arranged but one day I was informed that Mr.Cartwright was willing to take me to Burnden Park on the following Saturday to watch a match. Dad was also very keen on Bolton Wanderers but he was working every Saturday and could not attend. If that train had excited me, I was positively quivering when Mr, Cartwright came to knock on our door to pick me up. We took the trolly bus to Farnworth and then another one to the ground near Bolton centre. The first thing that struck me was the amount of people going to the match. Football attendances in the late 40's were huge. There was probably not so much competition and admission was cheap. Bolton's average gate at that time must have been around 35,000. We stood in the Paddock on the side below the Burnden stand, I was on the fence so had a good view. They played Sunderland and I couldn't take my eyes off it. After that I went regularly to all home games with Mr. Cartwright for the next few years until I was old enough to go on my own. I owe him a lot; he helped to start an obsession that continues to this day. I remember in 1950 he also took me to Maine Road Manchester to watch the Rugby League Cup Final. There was a crowd of over 80,000 that day to see Warrington win the cup. I didn't understand the rules of the game but the atmosphere was thrilling.

To a passer by Beechfield Avenue would appear to be a perfectly ordinary street. It was much more than that to me, it was Wembley football stadium and Lords cricket ground rolled into one. Serious competitive matches were played all year round. The number of players could vary from one to twenty. If it was one, it was bound to be me. Football was played down the Avenue. The number of players dictated the length of the pitch, and the goals were two bricks stood on end at each side. The selection of the teams was an interesting exercise in democracy. The players would line up and the captains would go down the line selecting in turn. A six year old with a bad cold and a sprained ankle obviously was last. Matches were of indeterminate length and could last for several hours, often into the gathering gloom. We were playing floodlit football long before the Football League tried it in the early 1950's. Games would be interrupted for various reasons; the odd car was a nuisance. Far more frequent was typically the cry of " Cum in Roger, thee tea's ready" Sometimes Roger was reluctant to leave and that caused mayhem when his mother entered the fray to grab him. Cricket was played across the Avenue with the batsmen and bowler standing on opposite pavements. The wicket was a gatepost and we had a particularly fine brick one. Stroke making had to suit the conditions, shots tended to be pulls to midwicket or square cuts. Many years later playing village cricket, I never could play a straight drive. This was obviously down to my formative years in the game at Beechfield Stadium. A straight drive would have gone through the lounge window of Mr.and Mrs Cartwright's house.

During the spring of 1949 Lizzie was in contact with the parents of the young girl who had stayed with her at the height of the London Blitz. She came to stay for a week, and we took her out on some trips to the seaside. She seemed to enjoy her holiday and a few weeks after she returned Lizzie received a letter inviting us all to go for a holiday to London. A month or so later Mother and I set off from London Road Station, Manchester. Lizzie had decided not to go, she had been unwell recently. This was my second train ride to London but this time I was a fully- fledged train spotter with notebook in hand. I was in seventh heaven. Passing Camden sheds with all those Coronation class engines steaming outside was very exciting. We arrived at Euston and took the tube to Shepherds Bush. We eventually found their house, located in a very small terrace in a pretty run down area. The battering that London had taken in the war could be seen everywhere. They made us very welcome and the evening passed by chatting and reminiscing about the war. Eventually around 10pm we went to bed as we were feeling tired after the long journey. Mother and I were in a small room with two single beds with barely any space between. A small table was in the corner with a lighted candle on it. I fell asleep quickly only to be awakened around midnight by Mother shaking me. " Wake up Billy, we're going home." I thought I was dreaming and asked why? "Bugs" she said with a shiver. Apparently she had spent the last two hours squashing them. We got up and dressed, she woke up the people and not very convincingly explained we had to return to Lancashire immediately. She said she was psychic and had a premonition that Wilf had just had a nasty accident; it was essential we set off immediately. What they thought of this unlikely tale, I have no idea, but out into the night we blundered. We landed at Euston Station in the early hours to find the next Manchester train did not leave until around 7am. I never slept a wink, happily running from platform to platform with my notebook. A main line station at night is a spectacular sight, the lights causing dramatic deep shadows from the engines with dense pillars of steam swirling to the glass canopy above. What an experience all that was, the night on Euston Station made it worthwhile for me. At least we did have one decent holiday that year; I went to the Isle of Man with Mother and Dad.

September 1949 saw me enter the second year at school. I had settled down reasonably well but had found the work a bit difficult. My report at the end of the first year saw me finish 23rd out of 30. Most of the subjects were classed as " fairly good," my best subject was History and continued to be so throughout the next four years. All that reading of "Wonderland of Knowledge" must have had something to do with it. This moderate report did not bother me at all, apart from the assessment of the most important subject of all. "Physical Exercises and Games -- Very Fair." I was mortified; Mr Winstanley the Games teacher went down in my estimation immediately. Could the man not recognise obvious talent? We were graded into four streams; that would remain for the next four years. I was put in the second group form B, which I suppose wasn't bad considering my average report. Unfortunately Frank and Edwin moved into the top stream. New friends in this class included Alan Cockshaw, Alan Birtles, Brian Hulme and Neil Orrell.

During this year there was a major epidemic of poliomyelitis across England. People were asked not to congregate together in enclosed spaces, and advised not to attend cinemas. It was a frightening time as the disease could be fatal. Tragically a boy from Walkden called Brian Fellowes in the year above me at school died, that was a terrible shock to us all. It was a very sober school that heard the announcement. One problem I did suffer from in the first year was bullying, one of the problems of being very small. A big lad called Carl Smith used to take great delight in the odd punch and I wasn't exactly overjoyed to find him in my form in second year. Thankfully it settled down when we got to know each other better.

Frank Coucill was my best friend throughout my school years. During 1948 his parents took over the "Dun Mare" pub near Roscoe's foundry on the edge of Little Hulton. We got on well and had a similar background; he was also an only child and sports mad, he still is come to think! We joined a table tennis club together held at Little Hulton Cricket pavilion, went to watch football matches and to Old Trafford Cricket ground to watch Lancashire play county cricket. Lancashire had a very good team with the redoubtable Cyril Washbrook opening the batting and a young Brian Statham just beginning to make his mark. Frank was also a keen member of the train-spotting fraternity. I used to go up to visit the pub and remember helping Frank to clean the bottles. We spent the time playing table tennis in a big room upstairs or darts when the pub was closed. I would either catch the number 12 bus to get there or cycle.

In 1950 Frank came on holiday with us to Scarborough, and he was to do this for three years. We had two holidays in Scarborough and one in Bridlington I can also remember going on holiday to Blackpool with him and his parents. One afternoon in Bridlington we had a real scare. We hired a rowing boat and some fishing tackle and went out to sea. It got a bit rough but we carried on, dangling the lines over the side, We were quite a way out and the waves were getting higher, the tide was going out also which was worrying, it was late in the afternoon and a bit worried as the sky became dark and rain began to fall. We got in a greater panic when we realised the anchor we had thrown overboard was stuck. Eventually we managed to free it but due to the rocking there was now a lot of water in the bottom of the boat. We tried to row back to shore but it was difficult with the tide against us. We just about made it back, the boat owner putting his hands over his eyes when he saw the amount of water in the boat. It was two very exhausted and relieved lads who returned to Mrs Gibson's boarding house.

Some other memories of holidays in the early fifties; Dad was a keen swimmer and we always went to the outdoors swimming baths in Scarborough. One year Frank had forgotten to bring his trunks with him and hired some, they were a navy blue knitted mesh material, too large and they were constantly round his ankles. In Peasholme Park, Scarborough they had a display on the lake with model ships representing the battle of the River Plate and the sinking of the German battleship the "Graf Spee." We enjoyed that, lots of bangs and flashes as the guns roared. Thirty-five years later when Edna and I visited Scarborough the same model ships were still banging and flashing! Frank recalls that car trips going on holiday were always a bit chaotic with mother shouting at us to be quiet so Dad could concentrate on driving, Frank was constantly singing daft songs in his high- pitched voice. One year when we went to Blackpool with his parents, Frank and I went to the Isle of Man for a day trip on the ferry. Going out the crossing was very rough and I was violently sick, apparently I was refusing to get on the ferry for the return journey later that day. That same holiday his parents took us to the Grand Theatre to see the Max Bygraves show. I can't remember much about Max Bygraves but the statuesque chorus girls holding large fans discreetly covering bare boobs were most interesting. The strict censorship rules of the day allowed them to do this provided they stood there and didn't move a muscle. It couldn't have been easy for them as wobbling was seriously frowned on. We both enjoyed it nevertheless.

On an impulse I joined the St. Pauls Peel church choir, the reason was simple you got paid. I saw a notice in the local post office asking for volunteers and giving the rate of pay. Mother was of course delighted; I didn't dare tell her it was because of the six pence per week. Frank was already a member but strongly denies he joined for the money. Mary was running the Mother's Union at that time and when she had a meeting; our house was overflowing with earnest young women. Joining the choir meant attending practice one night in the week and church on Sunday, for morning and evening service. Looking back I am amazed I did it, but I suppose I had a reasonable voice and actually liked singing. The choirmaster was Mr.Jackson, a rather fussy balding man. The choir stalls were either side of the chancel and the organ was behind a screen immediately behind one of the choir stalls. He had a large mirror above the organ that meant he could keep an eye on at least half the choir. All the potential troublemakers were placed on the other side so he could watch them. Naturally Frank and I were included in this bunch also his son Dennis. Every time I looked up I could see his eyes in the mirror boring into me. I used to wonder how he could play the organ when he never seemed to look at the keyboard.

Soon after this I had to have an audition for the school choir. This was compulsory, no choice. Mr. Rigby a small ebullient man with a big moustache trying to hide his cleft upper lip; conducted the audition. He had actually attended the school as a boy and returned as a French and Music teacher. He sat at the piano and instructed, "Right Clarke, sing this." This was one interview I was determined to fail, no way did I want to be in the school choir, it meant standing on the stage every morning at assembly and they didn't pay for a start! I gave a passable impression of a frog with a sore throat and stood there. Dear old Mr. Rigby, he had seen it all before. A slight weary smile crossed his face and he said, " OK, I get the message, off you go." I didn't completely succeed, a few days later a notice went up with the names of all those selected for the choir, my name was not there, I grinned. I suddenly noticed another list alongside, this was for the school chorus, and there was my name. Foiled again! At least the chorus only performed once a year at Speech Day.

In 1950 I became aware that a house on the estate had got a television set. This funny aerial in the shape of a letter H had appeared on the roof. This was the very early days of TV and the BBC had begun transmitting a limited range of programmes. Sets were tiny only twelve inches square, black and white pictures of course. The sets were usually mounted in enormous wooden cabinets to make them look more imposing than they really were. In early May I read in the paper that the forthcoming FA. Cup Final between Arsenal and Liverpool was to be shown live on TV. The week before the game I agonised about whether to knock on the door and ask if I could watch it. I hadn't a clue who lived there; it was on an adjoining road. On the morning of the game I thought, what the hell, and went round. A small elderly lady peeped around the door and stared at me. Here we go. "Um, er, Could I watch the Cup Final on your TV …PLEASE." To my enormous relief she gave me a kind smile and said, "Of course thee can lad, cum back at quarter to three." Whoopee. I went back and sat there agog, it was magic. As ever nothing can ever match the first time you experience something new. At that time the Cup Final was the only game you could see live on television and for the next two years I watched the match on the TV of some friends of Lizzies who lived on the corner of Cleggs Lane.

During 1951 the Robinson family opposite got a TV. One day I was out on the road when Shirley Robinson who was about my age said, "We've got a TV now." I knew that already so wasn't really interested, then she said, "It's a coloured one." I stared at her in amazement, " Oh yeah?" she looked a bit cross, "Come and have a look." We went in to their house, there sat the usual small black and white set in a big wooden cabinet. The difference was it had a frame mounted across the screen with a thick green plastic sheet stretched across. It was coloured all right, the only problem was all you could see was a green haze and not much more!

On the 27th August the BBC broadcast the first ever-live pictures sent across the channel with a two-hour programme from Calais. Richard Dimbleby who was a massive star in the 1950's presented it. Dad bought our first TV set in 1953 in time for the Cup Final as Bolton Wanderers were playing.

1951 was a good year for holidays. We went to Scarborough again to our usual boarding house in Trafalger Square. Frank came again and Dads old friend Tom Partington and his wife Edith also accompanied us. Tom was a big friendly excitable man, very enthusiastic about everything with a great bellow of a laugh. Edith was quite the opposite, very calm and lots of smiles. They were a good couple and had two boys Eric and Roy, who did not come with us. I have a lot of happy photos of that week.

As a kid I used to spend a lot of time playing in Little Hulton Park, which was situated off Manchester road just up from Peel Church. The Park was always well maintained and had slides, swings, a bowling green and tennis courts. I spent hours playing tennis on those courts. Years later in the early 1990's when I was visiting Dad in Walkden one day I drove up and walked around the Park and was very disappointed in it's condition. Much of it was not as I remembered. The old pavilion had gone and the tennis courts were a wreck. The steps down to the old courts were there but not much else. I also used to spend a lot of time playing football on a pitch up Cleggs Lane behind The Antelope pub also called " Poor Dick's." It backed onto the estate we always called "the flat tops" being two story houses with flat roofs, they weren't very attractive. One of my friends Trevor Savage used to live there and we all had a terrible shock one day when his elder brother Jack aged nineteen was killed in a motorcycle accident sometime in the early fifties.

Later that year came another big trip, off to Kent by train with Mother to stay with Edith and Stan Nightingale in Edenbridge. The reason for the visit was to see the major exhibition the " Festival of Britain" in London. This was organised by the Government as a celebration of Britain and its people and to show the latest developments in Industry, Architecture, Art and the culture of the British people. It was also intended to lift the country from the post war doldrums with rationing and shortages. The main exhibits were on the South Bank with a festival funfair in Battersea Park. King George opened the festival on the 3rd May. I thought it was fantastic; possibly it was this trip that awakened my interest in Architecture. I had never seen buildings like them before, light framed with enormous areas of glass. The Festival Concert Hall is the only building still remaining from the original layout. The "Skylon" dominated the exhibition, a tall, metal, pointed structure reaching for the sky, all good symbolic stuff for Clem Attlee's Labour Government. It didn't help them; they lost the election in October 1951 and back came an elderly Winston Churchill who had strenuously opposed the idea of the festival all along. Shades of another political football the Dome some forty-nine years later. The festival was widely regarded as a big success although there had been much criticism initially of the £11 million cost at a time of meat rationing and petrol shortages.

I have always been interested in watching boxing possibly Roland Grimshaw had something to do with that. Mind the only time I tried it properly in the school gym Donald Holmes hit me on the nose and I immediately lost interest in the practical side. I used to be allowed to stay up late and listen with Dad to radio commentaries on Bruce Woodcock's fights in the late 1940's. Bruce was British Champion between 1945 and 1950 and fought some top Americans at Earls Court in London. In July 1951 there was a big fight to be shown live on TV. This was Randolph Turpin against the legendary American Sugar Ray Robinson for the World Middleweight Championship. The match received enormous publicity and the papers were full of it. Lizzie's friends allowed me to watch it and I stared entranced for fifteen rounds before Turpin was declared the winner. Such jubilation. It didn't last long they had a rematch in America in September and Robinson wiped the floor with him.

My train spotting was still going strong. There was another lad from school, Colin Vernon who lived in Kirkham Street off Cleggs Lane, he was just as mad as Frank and I. We used to take our packed sandwiches and go away together for day trips to Wigan, Crewe or cycling to Golbourne on the East Lancs Road, a sure guarantee of seeing lots of "namers". For a spotter names were everything! Crewe was the Mecca and the ends of the platforms were packed with lads all clutching their Ian Allen annuals. There was a great thrill in seeing a steaming train approaching in the distance roaring through the station while you strained your eyes for the name and number. A cop was greeted with huge cheers. One day Frank and I set off on the bus from Little Hulton for a day at Manchester Piccadilly station. We paid the usual penny to get our platform ticket and promptly got on the next train to Crewe. We got away with it and had a good day. We also tried sneaking into the engine sheds adjoining the station and got thrown out. On the way back a deal was struck, " Don't tell your mother what we've done today and I won't tell mine!" I wonder how many times we did that little trick? By the time diesels came in, my spotting days were over. I was glad I was there in the age of steam, I am sure it was the noise, smell and hiss of steam, that made it a unique experience for anoraks like us. Surprisingly Mother never seemed to object to me going. Clearly there were some dangers with a group of lads standing on the edge of a platform all day watching trains speeding a few feet away from them. I survived and thoroughly enjoyed it all for several years, and I still love riding on trains.

I wasn't doing very well in German; at this stage I was finding learning two foreign languages difficult. French was a little easier, possibly because during German lessons I was clearly distracted by the young teacher's figure. Miss Lowe, the proud possessor of the most enormous bust suggested I start to correspond with a German boy and said she would provide me with an address. A few days later she handed me a slip of paper and on it was written "Dieter Koch, Harzer Strasse 91, Neukolln, Berlin." I took it home and promptly wrote my first letter. Goodness knows what he made of all those ramblings about train spotting and watching Bolton Wanderers. Anyway we started to correspond. I couldn't read a word when he replied so I took the letter round to a German lady who lived in Coniston Avenue and she translated it for me. I was beginning to enjoy this. I knew that a friend at school had his pen friend over to stay and began to sniff the possibility of a trip to Berlin. I sent him a photograph and asked for one in return. A week or so later a letter arrived enclosing his photograph, it showed a tall thin young lad, with a gaunt face wearing rimless glasses. He was wearing a long black morning coat with tails, a silk cravat and top hat, holding a pair of white gloves. I wasn't sure whether he was a trainee undertaker or had been to Eton. I showed the picture to Mother and said brightly, "Doesn't he look smart and can he come and stay here with us? A worried frown crossed her face. " Er, we'll have to think about that." They never did, nothing more was said and I still haven't been to Berlin
.
Summer 1951 saw my debut as a poet in the School magazine. I thought it was rather good and felt proud, the subtlety of the rhyming couplets was clearly exceptional for a lad of such tender years. The first verse was as follows…

"Over there, beneath the clouds,
I saw a swallow fly,
High into the heavens, up into the sky
He flew so very high."

I will spare you the remaining two verses.

By the time I was in third year I was beginning to improve my class position and was now around 16th nearly half way up. I struggled a bit with Chemistry and Physics but otherwise it was clear I was making an effort. Even Mr. Winstanley had seen the light and my grade for PE and Games was now "Good." He wasn't so stupid after all.

Frank and I began to get involved with Little Hulton Cricket Club. We used to go and watch matches together and attend the junior practice. They were just starting a third team at the time. Frank became the scorer for the second eleven and I went along as scorer's assistant, my job was to put the tins up on the scoreboard. The standard in the Bolton Association League was good, most clubs employed a paid professional and the public had to pay admission to watch matches. We did this for a couple of summers. I remember we both took a shine to the young lady who was the scorer for Tootles Sports Club, but her boy friend was the big opening bowler. Frank used to come round to Beechfield Avenue and we would play football in the road. I used to regularly kick a ball up the side of the house using the garage doors as goals. Frank remembers if ever the ball went into Uncle Albert's garden next door I got in a panic. I was a bit scared of him he could be very grumpy at times.

Funny how you can remember where you were when a dramatic event occurs. On the 6th February 1952 I was hanging my coat up in the cloakroom at school when another lad came running up to me shouting, " The King's dead." It had just been announced on the radio that King George the sixth had died. He had been found dead early that morning, he of course was the father of our present Queen. She was on holiday in Kenya when she was told the news and was proclaimed Queen two days later on the 8th February. The BBC closed down all programmes for the rest of the day.

Granny died suddenly aged eighty-seven in 1952. The previous two years had been very difficult for her. She liked to sit in the lounge but her bedroom was upstairs. Getting up and down the stairs became increasingly difficult and there were repeated falls. She suffered the most terrible bruises and often had horrible great lumps on her head. There was a tradition that the undertaker would lay the body out in the house the day before the funeral. This meant the coffin was brought in and the body placed into it with a sheet up to the neck, ready for people to see her and pay last respects. I was very uncertain about all this and didn't want to go and look, it frightened me a bit. May came up to see her with little Hazel who was then aged six. I stayed in the kitchen with mother and Hazel, while May went in. Then Hazel decided she wanted a look, when she came back she didn't seem very upset, so the big brave fifteen year old lad decided to give it a go. I didn't stay long and went back in the kitchen and said, "I wasn't expecting that, she looks just like my Granny." May laughed and asked me what I had been expecting, I told her I thought I would see a skeleton! I didn't realise I was that daft.

There was an enormous amount of new building construction in the early 50's as Britain rebuilt after the war. Dad's business was thriving and he never seemed to stop working. Our back garden had become his store and was covered in roof tiles. At the age of fifteen I started to spend days with him on the building sites during my holidays. I had to get up early which I didn't like and the days were long. There is no doubt this all had an impact on my future. There were a lot of men usually working on the site; Dad, Joe and Tiger would be up on the roof assisted by three labourers who they employed to carry tiles up onto the roof. This was hard work, I had to do it as well, but I was carrying a lot less tiles than the men. There was a good camaraderie amongst all the men, lots of chat and banter, years later in my professional life I learned this was normal on most sites. I was up on the roof one day, having a rest having humped up a load of tiles when I noticed a car pulling up. A man in a suit got out carrying a load of drawings. He walked around for a while and then started waving his arms around instructing the site foreman to do things. Dad was nearby and I asked him who was the man in the suit, " He's the architect," was the reply. I decided there and then I preferred that job to being a roof tile labourer, I didn't realise then it would all come to pass.

We finally got a Television set in 1953. I went with Mother and Dad to Bulloughs Radio and TV. Shop at Farnworth to select it. I was thrilled to bits after several years of grovelling to friends and neighbours, pleading to watch. There were two big events that year we wanted to see, the Cup Final in May that involved Bolton and Queen Elizabeth's Coronation on the 2nd June. Bolton had got through to Wembly winning 4-3 after a thrilling semi-final against Everton at Maine Road Manchester. I went to that match. It was another 80,000 gate and I took a brick with me to stand on so that I could see. If I did that today I would end up in a police cell. For both events, the Cup Final and the Coronation our lounge was packed with neighbours, needless to say the football interested me far more than Royal affairs and it still does. Great pity we lost the Final, which became immortalised as "The Stanley Matthews Final."

Around this time little Anne Cartwright began to come over to watch children's television. Anne was the born in 1949 to Wyn and Ernie who lived opposite. If I remember she was particularly fond of "Muffin the Mule" and "Andy Pandy." Over fifty years later Anne was to make contact with me again and I hope to visit her and her family in Japan later this year.

One very odd thing happened in 1953, on February 22nd my birthday, to be precise. I am sure the evening before my parents would, as normal have said " Goodnight Billy," nothing unusual in that. The next morning I got up to get ready for school. Mother was getting my breakfast and said " Happy Birthday Bill." I paused a little, not sure if I had heard correctly. "Eh?" I mumbled. She repeated the same words. I asked why I had suddenly been renamed. " It's because you are sixteen." came the unanswerable logic. I remain baffled to this day. There are very few people who still call me Billy, Harry Baggs and Frank Coucill. I like to hear it and can pretend I'm fifteen again.

During a school career some years are critical for the future. I had leapt the eleven plus hurdle and was now in 1953 was facing my GCSE O level exams at the end of the summer term. This was very important and we all knew it. Dad even promised me a cycle if I did well. I had already decided I wanted to try and be an Architect, which meant going onto 6th form, passing my A level examinations then getting into University. As I approached the O level exams, that bright future was far from my mind, I was more worried about what would happen if I didn't do well. In those days you took various subjects, I took ten. There were no grades, the pass mark was 40% and you either passed or failed. This was probably easier than exams years later, when specific grades were required in individual subjects. I took all the exams and then waited with trepidation for the results in August. Before they came out Dad had made enquiries with Seddons a local building firm and arranged for me to become a trainee Quantity Surveyor, if I had to leave school. The big day dawned when the results were out. I couldn't wait and set off to waylay the postman. I roughly knew his route and tracked him down about a mile from home; luckily he knew me and gave me the envelope with a grin. The envelope was shredded in seconds and I stared at the paper, I had passed the lot, I nearly kissed the postman but his stubble quite put me off. I must have run that mile home in under four minutes; that was a year before Roger Bannister did it. Mother and Dad were delighted and so was I; I did want that bike. The following week Dad and I went to a cycle stall on Bolton Market and a green racer called a " Raleigh Lenton" became my pride and joy. That summer the bike was put to good use with trips to Southport and Blackpool. Edwin came on the Blackpool trip and recalls at one point on the way back I was so tired I got off and lay down in the middle of the road. There couldn't have been much traffic in those far off days.

That year Rock and Roll became popular with the Bill Haley hit "Rock around the Clock." I liked it and began a collection of rock records, that meant wax 78rpm or vinyl LP's. Around this time I was into big band music, which was very fashionable. Ted Heath was my favourite and I went to several of his concerts at the Free Trade Hall in Manchester. There was a standard format to it, every band of the day would have a male and a female singer and in the Heath band it was Dennis Lotus and Lita Roza. I couldn't wait for the singers to get off I just wanted to hear those swinging saxophones. There was a lad at school in the year behind me who played the saxophone called Miller. How I envied him, I envied him even more when he joined the band at Bolton Palais. To my eternal regret I have never been able to play any musical instrument, the only thing I ever played was football and cricket.

Having ensured I was now eligible to enter 6th form, some more crucial decisions were required. What subjects should I take at A level? Dad wrote to the Royal Institute of British Architects in London to seek advice. The reply that came back worried me. To gain admission to University one had to take a minimum of three subjects at A level. Again the requirement was to pass, you had to get 40%, below that you failed. University requirements as to the number of passes required varied, some wanted three, some two. The letter from the RIBA recommended that as Architecture was becoming more technically based I should take Maths, Physics and Chemistry. My heart sank when I read this. I was now faced with two very tough years with the probability it could end in failure.

One good thing about going into the Sixth form was firstly I was reunited with Frank and Edwin who were also in the Science Sixth and the fact I got into the school second eleven football team. We played school matches on both Wednesday and Saturday, which I always looked forward to. As expected I found the work a struggle. Mr. Bate the Chemistry master made me squirm at times with the odd sarcastic comment. The Physics teacher Mr. Horrocks had just joined the school and realising my difficulties went out of his way to help me. Maths was taught by the very efficient Miss Ince and Mr.Petty; I got on well with both of them. At the end of the first year my report was pretty gloomy, words like "Fair" peppered the page and that classic " Must try harder" was on display. I was trying my hardest already dammit. The prospects did not look good at that stage.

Around this time I remember going with my mother to see a friend of hers who lived near Piggot Street in Farnworth. The lady's elderly father was living with them; he must have been around eighty. I was introduced to him and he said, " Nah then lad, wot job art theer goin t' be doin?" I told him I wanted to go to University. He said, " Nay lad that's nay a proper job, tha want's get darn t'pit."

Sometime in early 1954 I started to go out with a young lady from school. I can't really remember how it started, but it certainly did. She was in the year below me, a little blonde by the name of Jean Whitelegg. We used to travel on the same bus to school, so I suppose a bit of eyeballing had been going on. We started going out to the cinema every Saturday night, in particular ones that had a double seat on the back row. Usually there was only one so we had to be first in the queue. I suppose we must have gone out for at least six months and it could have been longer. We never went to each other's house, I am sure Mother was very curious about what my young lady was like but never said much. I just trotted off every Saturday night for months. Eventually it came to an end as the delectable Sheila Williams, from Westminster Road, Walkden had appeared in my view.

When I was seventeen, Dad started to teach me to drive the car. We used to go out on a piece of disused ground near Swinton and he tried to get the basics into me. Ironically he never took a driving test in his life. When he acquired the Austin seven car, but he must have had a driving licence before 1934, after this date anybody applying for a licence had to take a test. When I was eighteen I was able to drive on the road with him with L-plates. I took a test in Bolton in spring 1955 and failed. I never was much good at reversing.

There were two major athletics events shown on television that year and both attracted huge publicity. On the 6th May Roger Bannister broke the four-minute mile at the Iffley Road track Oxford. His pacemakers included Chris Chataway and Chris Brasher. Film of the race was shown on the BBC news later that evening. At the time it seemed to me a staggering achievement, now any athlete can do it. Later in the year in October Chris Chataway beat Vladamir Kuts by a whisker to take the world record for the 5,000 metres at the White City Stadium in West London. This event was watched by 40,000 spectators and transmitted live on TV. I remember screaming my head off sitting with Dad as they approached the line.

During the summer holiday of 1954 a group of us from the school, including Frank and John Darlington went to Butlins Holiday camp at Pwllheli in North Wales for a week. I had never been to a Holiday Camp before and I thought it was brilliant. It had everything a young man desired! Lots of available sport, there was a big hall with about thirty table tennis tables, tennis courts, football pitches, an open - air pool and even better lots of available girls. Whatever happened to Miss Ann Mathias of Narberth, South Wales? I never did see her again.
Later that autumn I had a new experience in my life. I can't remember how it was organised or why but a group of us from School were taken down a pit in Kearsley. It had quite an impact on me. We went down in this rattling small cage and entered a dark world of dimly lit underground tunnels. We were taken to the coalface to see the men boring the coal from its seam. The working conditions were dreadful, dark, dusty and clearly dangerous. Having seen that, the advice I had been given a few months ago to " get darn t'pit lad" didn't seem such an attractive proposition.

When I came back from the holiday I had two weddings to attend. A pal of mine Derek Bryan who lived just round the corner from Beechfield Avenue was getting married to his girlfriend Barbara. He was seventeen, my age, and it was a case of having to! They did it properly, had a full church wedding and I was a groomsman. One never knows with weddings under those circumstances when they were so young. The good news is they have now been married over fifty years and still going strong. Derek and I made contact again just a couple of years ago. The other wedding was Tom and Edith Partington's son Eric, who was married in Swinton and I was a groomsman again. Eric and Jean came to my wedding five years later and I am struggling to think if I ever saw them again after that.

Here we go again, another critical year coming up, 1955 was looming. This really was the final fence of my school career. Unfortunately to me it looked as high as Beechers Brook. The September term of 1954 began as the previous one had finished, with me struggling with the Science subjects. In order to help my intended career as an Architect they allowed me to have a few periods of Art with Mr Ormrod, not with any exam in mind merely to help my drawing skills. In hindsight perhaps that time would have been better spent on Physics or Chemistry, which was the real priority.

In April 1955 my Mother and Dad celebrated their silver wedding with a big party held in the hall at St. Pauls Peel junior school. It was quite a big event, around fifty guests and speeches. It must have been a very happy occasion for them both. May recalls that all the games were organised by Ernie Cartwright who also made a speech. She remembers Johnny her husband loved eating trifles, the word got round and people were passing theirs to him; he ended up eating about ten! I was there but cannot remember a great deal about it apart from the room being crowded and Dad making a speech.
During my final year in the upper 6th I became a prefect and could walk around school flaunting my badge of authority. I cannot remember too many perks attached to the job I had to stand on the landing during break times to keep order as they all rushed back into school. Several of the fifth formers were bigger than me and took a delight in poking me in the ribs as they pushed past. As a prefect you were expected to take your turn reading the lesson at morning assembly. This terrified me; I have always been hopeless at speaking in public. It was a case of head down, gabble through it and run back down the aisle to my place at the back of the hall. There were a few smiles around at my effort.

I had great hopes of winning the annual cross-country run; I was pretty fit in those far off days. It was a big event and the whole school was allowed to go down to the playing fields to see the finish. As I neared the entrance to the playing fields on the way back I was in second place, gasping for breath and exhausted. There was no question of overtaking the leader, it was more a case of would I reach the finish line. To the sound of clapping I entered the final lap and put on a dramatic performance for the assembled throng. I fell down at least three times, got up and staggered a few more paces, Captain Scott couldn't have done it better in the Antarctic. Eventually I reached the line, fell across and lay panting, flat out on the floor. I was rather hoping that Miss Lowe would gallantly come running over and clutch me to her bosom, all that happened was that Mr Ormesher standing by the line, grunted, "Get up Clarke, you'll get run over soon." They bred them tough in the fifties. I opened the batting for the school against the Staff; again the school was allowed out to watch this event. I was taking guard to face the first ball when I realised with some concern I had forgotten to put my protective box on. A golden rule of cricket is never end up in this situation! I was too embarrassed to walk off and put it on, so carried on as though nothing was amiss. The Staff opening bowler was Mr. Rigby of choir audition fame. Sure enough after a few balls he scored a direct hit on the unmentionables, revenge for my cheating at the audition. I collapsed on the floor in a heap. I can still hear the shrieks of laughter from all around as I was helped off.

In April 1955 Winston Churchill resigned as Prime Minister and was replaced at last by the long-suffering Anthony Eden. Churchill had celebrated his eightieth birthday the previous November. I cannot visualise anybody of that age ever being Prime Minister again. A general election was held the next month and Eden was duly returned. All these stirring national political events passed over my head under the rules at that time I wasn't eligible to vote for another three years. Anyway I was far more interested in another election held at the same time, for the constituency of Farnworth Grammar School. I cannot remember who were candidates for the Conservative and Liberal parties but I do know that the Labour Candidate was Alan Cockshaw. Alan was a friend and we had been in the same form since second year in 1949, so I became his publicity agent. I remember doing this big poster with the slogan on it of "Stop Mr. Rising Price." I drew three men similar to the little man in the bowler hat on the Mcdougalls flour adverts, naturally they went from very small to very large. Such imagination, it must have taken hours to think of that! Each candidate had to speak to the assembled school in the hall; it was something different, enjoyed by all and Labour won. I would like to think my poster helped but I suspect Alan's speech had a little more to do with it! All that public speaking must have been good practice for him; he eventually became chairman of AMEC plc the giant international construction company in 1988, a President of the Institution of Civil Engineers and was knighted for services to industry.

I began to consider which Universities to apply for. Liverpool was generally considered the best for Architecture and Sheffield had a good reputation. My mother suggested Manchester so I could live at home, but I was sensible enough to realise it would be better to move away. In the end I wrote to Liverpool and Sheffield. The Liverpool answer was not very encouraging, with their status, they could be very choosy and they didn't seem to want young master Clarke. Sheffield offered me an interview and on a cold rainy day I caught the train to Sheffield from Manchester, clutching a book with some sketches I had done for O level Art. I walked into the City centre from the Station. I wasn't too impressed, all the buildings looked black and grimy. I caught a bus up to the University and was directed round to the Architecture Department. This turned out to be a converted church at the end of Shearwood Road a cul-de-sac. I went to see the secretary, a small, thin, woman with a curt manner, Miss Crawford, who was known by all as simply "Crawfie." I was directed up a narrow flight of wooden steps into a small office with a large table, everything in the room was an absolute jumble. A big bear of a man rose to greet me, in his mid sixties I would guess, with a big paunch. He spoke in a Scottish accent. "Hallo, Mr.Clarke, I'm Professor Welsh." I was very nervous; this was my one and only opportunity. He asked me a few questions about my background, took a cursory look at my sketches and then came round to what was on his mind. " I see from your application form that you play football" (He pronounced it futbaw) I didn't know where this was leading, "Yes Sir " came the cautious reply, "Hmm" he said, staring at me thoughtfully, " Are ye any gud?" I told him I was in the school team " What position do ye play?" I told him, Right Wing. A big grin crossed his face, "Gud am lukin fer a reet winger in ma Department team." My confidence was growing by the minute. What I didn't know before I set off, was that Prof. Welsh fitted perfectly that old Scottish song that Jimmy Logan used to sing, " For he's futbaw crazy, he's futbaw mad, the futbaw it has taken away, the little bit of sense he had." He was a director of the Sheffield United Football club and in his own youth had represented Scotland at amateur level.<> >His ambition every winter was that the Architects team came top in the inter-Department league and was always looking for prospective players. I thought this was all too good to be true, he stared at me again and said, "Theer is just one more thing I need ta know" I felt a bit worried suddenly, what now? He said; "Do yee like The Goon Show?" We spent the next half an hour discussing Spike Milligan, Peter Sellers, and Harry Secombe. After that he said, " OK, we'll have yee, just get two A levels, off yee go, see yee in October."

I returned home on the train later that day a little subdued. I was delighted I had been accepted, but nobody knew better than I did, that there was a real chance I would never return. It was obvious he didn't care what A levels I took or that I knew nothing about Architecture. Prof. Welch clearly felt that a five-year course was long enough to turn you into an Architect, provided you met the basic entrance education requirements and played football! I was even more certain now that I was doing the wrong A levels. A year before Dad had written to the RIBA with the best of intentions, trying to help me. If I had now been taking, English, History, Art or Geography I knew I would easily have achieved the grades required. It was far too late now, there was nothing for it but to plod on and remember that report, "must try harder."

After that I really tried to make up for lost time. My social life didn't help; I was seeing young Miss Williams on a regular basis. Surprisingly her great hobby was watching speedway. We went to watch Belle Vue in Manchester; there was quite a big crowd as speedway was a very popular sport in the 1950's. I can't say I was that enthralled. By now the relationship had even reached visiting the respective homes stage. That was an ordeal, her horrible elder brother taking the xxxx. When I took Sheila home, Mother was obviously on edge, there wasn't too much conversation, just an air of tension and silence. On the sporting scene life was good, I played for the first team in both football and cricket. Pity about the forthcoming exams, it put a bit of a cloud over everything.

At last it was time for the exams. I must have been very nervous; I desperately wanted to get to Sheffield. In many ways, this created additional pressure that didn't help. I really had no idea how I had done when I had finished, I knew it would be tight and it was! I spent the early part of the summer holidays training with the Old Farnworthians football team. This was a team of old boys who played in the Lancashire Amateur League and I got really fit. We were coached by a professional footballer, a man called Harry Boyle who played for Rochdale. I needed to be fit to cope with the strain of opening that envelope with the results in. This time I didn't go chasing after the postman; I sat on our garden wall looking down the road for him, I must have been there an hour before he rounded the corner, finally he arrived and handed it to me, Mother anxiously stood at the door. This time I opened the envelope slowly and carefully and stared at the results in disbelief.

1. Chemistry. – 30% (groan)
2. Physics – 40% (phew)<>
3. Maths – 45% (Yeah)

It took a few minutes for the significance of those marks to sink in. My life had changed due to one mark, 39% in Physics would have meant no Sheffield and then what? As it was, I had made it by the skin of my teeth. Mother naturally was delighted and we had a celebration drink, a nice cup of tea using her best china. I wonder if she was thinking about that junior schoolteacher who had said I would never make it. Later that night when Dad came home he equally was thrilled. Most kids never realise or think about the sacrifices made by their parents and I was no exception. They had made so many sacrifices for me already and were now to make even more, to send me through University. In many ways I was getting the chance my father and mother never had, now it was up to me to make the most of it.

One other implication of that extra magic mark in physics was I would now miss National Service. At the end of the war in 1945 the Government had instigated a programme of call up to the armed forces for everybody aged eighteen and over. You were expected to serve for two years. There were exemptions and attending a University meant that you did not have to do your two years service, until the course was finished. If I had not made that extra mark in physics, I would have been in the army later that year. That was now delayed until 1960. Thankfully for me National Service was abolished before my course finished and I never had to go.

That summer a group of us returned to Butlins at Pwllheli for a second year running. I went with Frank, Edwin and Roy Grimshaw also from school and two friends of Edwin, called Wilf and Ernie. One thing I can remember from that holiday, I saw a group one afternoon having a kick about on the football pitch. Like a moth, I flew to the flame and immediately joined in. At the end I was having a talk with a few of them. It turned out they were from Sheffield and one of them was due to start at the University in October. We eventually ended up playing for the same football team there. When the holiday finished we were all going our various ways in the autumn. Frank had been accepted by Liverpool University to study Chemistry; poor old Roy hadn't done well in the exams and had decided to do an extra year at school and Edwin became an apprentice at De Haviland followed by a career in the steel industry. The remaining weeks of that summer melted away, I was still seeing Sheila who seemed a bit disappointed I would soon be away. I tried to reassure her by saying Sheffield wasn't that far and I would be coming back by train regularly to see her. I should never have promised that I never did!

Just before I set off for Sheffield the monopoly of the BBC to transmit television was ended. Britain's first independent television station went on the air bringing advertisements to the small screen for the first time. The first advert came a little more than an hour into the schedule during a variety show. We saw a tube of Gibbs SR toothpaste in a block of ice with a voiceover pronouncing it "tingling fresh toothpaste" for teeth and gums. It all seemed original and exciting at the time as I watched now of course I get sick to death of them and it seems programmes are incidental to the adverts.

In early September we received a letter from the University confirming my place and enclosing a list of student accommodation, it recommended we found a place quickly as rooms were in short supply. A week later we all set off in the car to Sheffield to find a flat. When we arrived the sun was shining and I thought it didn't look such a bad place after all. We eventually found a room in a large Victorian semi-detached property. I write "room," two other students shared it. There were three single beds packed in, two by the windows were taken already, the one in the rather gloomy corner was now destined for me. I was soon to learn over the next few years that Sheffield landladies liked to maximise their income by cramming students in. Typically we had to share toilet facilities with the family. The house was situated in the Walkley district only about half a mile from the University. The landlady Mrs. Booker lived with her husband and two teenage boys. She was a motherly figure with a bright red nose, that made me wonder as to her drinking habits. As we left she said to my mother "Don't worry, I'll look after him." Mother smiled approvingly.

A few weeks later came the big day; we set out with the car packed ready to take me for the beginning of term. Finally Dad turned the key, the engine burst into life and I waved good-bye to Beechfield Avenue. Although I did not know it as we drove slowly down Cleggs Lane, over the next five years I was about to spend some of the happiest times of my life. One postscript, a few days later May and Hazel went round to our house for tea. On arrival she found Mother in tears. "He'll never come back to live with us," she groaned. She was right, the problems of having an only child.