Brew
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Posts posted by Brew
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I lived on the A614 in the '60s in a house just after the railway bridge. The MD of Barton buses lived next door. The only thing I remember of the military camp near Ollerton are the 'Beware Tank Crossing' signs. I always assumed it was some sort of tank training ground.
It was whilst living there that I first fired a shotgun. The guy at the farm next door asked if I'd like to go 'rabbiting' . Six guys met outside my house and I was given a shotgun and told to be quiet as we crept across the road and stealthily peered over the hedge. Lo and behold there was a rabbit. So, more creeping until we got to the gate and entered the field. Damn, no rabbit. We stood around (Oi, keep that bleddy thing pointed at the floor) deciding where to go next when up pops Mr Bunny and he's running for his life. He's fast, but not fast enough to escape yours truly, the mighty hunter. At this point I had never fired a gun in my life except airguns at the Goose Fair. My father, who won shooting contests in the army was most disparaging of smooth bore guns. 'No kick, not accurate, rubbish guns' he said. Dad you lied to me!
Up came the gun and bang! It hit my shoulder and cheek so hard I was knocked of my feet. I was flat on my back, the gun is in the air with a live shell in it while five guys are trying bury themselves in the ground to take cover. Fortunately the second barrel didn't go off and we were OK. The rabbit wasn't so lucky. I had hit and killed it. When I looked at it felt so sick I couldn't even touch it. My wife refused to even consider skinning and cleaning it so I gave it to the farmer who was amazed at how soft 'townies' were.
I have two guns of my own now and I'm not bad at clay pigeon shoots but the thought of killing anything still makes me shudder.
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I don't know why but a phrase that really grates on me is: 'Let's go to yours' or 'you coming to mine'?
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To be fair he said to everyone who only managed to get as far as the second declension and then mangled the rest.
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My latin tutor had a phrase he muttered: stultus est sicut stultus facit - every time I wrongly conjugated verbs.
I'm not certain he didn't mean it.
The language tutors were like comic book stereotypes. Latin, about 300 years old white haired. German, square jawed iron grey almost crewcut hair. Doc Chapman, French - blue/black wavy hair five o'clock shadow always on the scrounge for a Woodbine.
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Just found this forum about GEM.
As a callow youth in addition to my day job I worked part time for a firm on Cliff Rd who supplied cleaning staff to the store. It was my job to drive the Commer mini-bus, collect and deliver the ladies to the store then take them back to Clifton. I drove the floor polishing machine.
The store manager was an American, not very tall and a little portly. He also had very sticky out ears. I can't remember his name but the ladies all called him Mickey Mouse.
If we were a team member short one of the cleaners would bring her daughter as a replacement. She always turned up with an empty shopping bag and always left with it full. Don't know, didn't ask, scared me to death.
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DavidW - A write up on Janet Marshall: http://www.nottinghampost.com/hundreds-gather-french-village-pay-tribute-janet/story-26792435-detail/story.html
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I don't remember the mound but I do remember the sucker lady. The ice house frightened me after I jumped in and couldn't get out again. My friend and I had seen 'the big lads' do it so of course we had to do it. Again the ubiquitous clothes line came into play but instead of my pal pulling me out I pulled the rope out of his hands. Some fishermen got me out but not before I'd scared myself silly.
Mentioning the hall brought back a memory. At school we had something called a leadership class whereby we could choose what to do for the afternoon. Imagine the teachers surprise when we volunteered to do cross country running! What they failed to realise it was the same afternoon as girls at the hall had netball. We ran down there like lions, came back like lambs.
Did you go all the way to the weir? It was often deeper than I was tall with white foam that looked like soap suds. Actually dangerous for little kids to play so close to the fast moving water when the edge was invisible. As an adult I'd have had a dickie fit if either of my two had done the same.
As a teen I once took a girl for a walk down the grove. She dressed in a mini skirt, white blouse and huge stilettos. Not exactly good for walking on grass or over the stile, even less so for going down the bank to the water. As you know it's almost a 45 degree slope. The stilettos made good brakes, dug in and stayed where they were - she unfortunately didn't. It didn't help that I was laughing like a drain at the sight she made at the bottom. Blouse torn, skirt up round her waist, no shoes and her beehive hairdo looked like a bomb had gone off. Pity as I really fancied her.
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Where is it? Mam, Nellies room back o clock. Dad, up my ar** first ledge on't right
What is it? It's a wimwam fer a woozler
Weak tea. What's this, gnats pi**?
Sisters going out. Keep yer and on yer hapeney
Yer gorra tide mark rahnd yer nek
What's to eat? a run round the table and a kick at the pantry door
C'mere yer little bleeder
Surprise! Well bogger me
and most of those already posted. It's almost like a second language
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Heh yes plantfit I scrumped apples there and others places too. There was a stile that led to an orchard and on to the Grove. It was there I learned not use a cow as a step ladder. Strange though, when you walked through the village main street there was a place where you could just walk in and there were apples and pears, some scales and a little tin with a few pennies in it. You helped yourself weighed out the fruit and left some money. We always paid 'cos if you didn't it was stealing. Scrumping wasn't stealing, not really. I mean it's scrumping not stealing so that's OK.
Next door was a cottage that had a well and the old man would always draw us water to drink. Cold as ice and probably wouldn't pass a fitness test today but we thought it was great. Further along was a post office/paper shop (Allens?) where I had my first paper round. A morning delivery, an evening delivery and money collection Sunday plus selling sweets and chocolate from the paper bag - seven shillings and sixpence a week. Go past the dovecote over the main road was a real blacksmith (to the rear of what is now the police station) who would let me pump the big bellows to made the coke glow. I wasn't strong enough really but with his help we made it work.
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Did I ever regret not going to Mundella? How would I know? I went to what they claimed was the grammar stream at Fairham, at that time a shining beacon of education, the largest comprehensive in the country I think at that time.
I seem to have spent a large portion of my life in schools. Nottingham Technical college . Peoples College. Nottingham University and Nottingham Trent University (at 45 yrs old) .
Thinking about it I suppose what drove me was a hatred of being 'poor'. I was the kid with the second hand clothes that classmates recognised. The one who's family didn't have a TV, never went on holiday etc. You couldn't give me my teenaged years back if you paid me in gold.
There were some great times though. Making a raft on Fairham brook and seeing how many we could get on it with inevitable result. My dad going with us to what we called giants foot pond in what eventually became the Glapton part of Clifton to catch newts. After a dire warning of consequences if we fell in it was quite hysterical seeing him up to his knees in the water, we learned some new words that day.
My best friend who lived just down the street had a bike. We went miles on that thing. Me pedalling, him on the 'croggy' sometimes sitting on the handlebars which made life interesting going down hill when you can't see - hello Anderson ward in the old General hospital. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I made a brilliant trolley (well I thought it was) but rather than steer with the bit a clothes line I pinched (it musta got wet and shrunk mam) I made it so I could sit upright and steer with my feet. Magic! flying down the hill from the 'top shops' on Southchurch drive. There was small stream at the bottom, so were three ladies pushing babies in prams. With no such fancy things as brakes I used the soles of my boots but though Blakeys made a lot of sparks they were not actually very good at stopping - I don't have to draw a picture do I? Later there was a short interlude when father reintroduced me to the razor strop he called 'the kid socker.'
Ruddington had an MOD disposal depot. Absolutely brilliant place to sneak into. Army motor bikes, Bedford lorries and Bren gun carriers. We killed hordes of enemies in those things.
Playing in Bluebell woods (Bunny) we found an entrance to a tunnel that we were later told was a wartime ammunition store and that the big hill was mostly hollow. Don't know how true it is but there was certainly a small gauge railway track going into it.
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We moved from Sneinton to Clifton around '52. We moved into a brand new house that was barely finished. The roads weren't even finished, just cinder hardcore. I remember we had no coke (coal not allowed) for the fire the day we moved in and dad was on the rough ground in front of the house breaking up wood for a fire, there was no central heating then. Anyway little brother had a yoyo and was spinning it round on the end of the string, not up and down, round and round. At that moment next door opened a window, yup, you got it - CRASH. He got thrashed, I got thrashed for not watching him and both banished inside. About an hour later little bro was frothing bright purple foam from his mouth. Among all the boxes and paraphernalia yet to be unpacked he found some 'little aniseedballs'. No had hadn't, he'd just downed a whole bottle of gentian violet pills. No phone, no car and with no idea where the doctors were dad set of on his bike to find help. My baby sister upset by all commotion was screaming, mam was having a fit nursing her and for the next two hours I had to drag my semi-comatose brother up and down the lounge because she said he will die if you let him go to sleep so of course I'm crying and frightened out of my wits.. maaam I'm only seven...Welcome to Clifton.
My first School was Brinkhill and there saw my favourite teacher from Sneinton, Miss Marshall. I was the best reader in class and as a reward she took me to the pictures in her little car, a Ford Y. The film was Fantasia and I loved it but couldn't follow the plot. For those of you who have not seen it there isn't one. Still my fave film of all time. Sadly Miss Marshall was murdered in France whilst on a cycling holiday.
I passed my 11 plus and was due to go to Mundella until I saw my mam crying at the cost of all the kit I needed. I threw a wobbler and refused to go saying I would run away if they made me, she never knew why.
I went to Farnborough on the first day it opened and also Fairham on the day that opened. Dad was a machine tool fitter so had what I suppose was an average wage but with seven kids it didn't go far. I remember him coming home one day proud as punch, he had a large piece of white paper in his wage packet. A five pound note no less!
Sometimes I look back through the wrong end of a rose tinted telescope and think about my childhood but really I have mixed emotions about it. One thing it gave me was a great determination that my kids would have it better but then I suppose you could say that about every parent.
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I joined the cubs at Clifton, I think it was the St Francis troop. Gran bought the uniform and I felt really special as I turned up and was assigned my little group. I liked the way my mam did the kneckerchief which had the two tails combined so it looked a little like a normal tie. Me mam did it that way OK? so I liked it. The sixer of my troop decided that the two tails should be separate and twisted with a little knot tied at the ends. This did not go down well and I put back. He started pushing and demanded I do as I'm told and he was a sixer and in charge. One pair of broken specs. one bloody nose and a sixer who suddenly lost all interest in my kerchief ended my cub scout membership - and I never got my 'punching out a bully badge'
I then joined the Boys Brigade (bucket bashers) who met in a wooden hut on Lanthwaite Rd. I enjoyed my time there for quite awhile until a certain kiddie fiddler captain decided it was my turn.
The freedom we had to roam was great. Walk to Bluebell woods at Bunny to collect great armfuls for me mam. Over the fields and down Fairham Brook with my dog. Fishing down the Grove, scrumping ( note: do not stand on the back of a cow to reach). At the top of Fanrborough there was still a farm where we were convinced the man there had a special trestle set up to chop off our heads. It was actually a trestle for sawing logs but hey we were eight years old right?
As a teenager Clifton was at that time probably the most boring place on earth to be. No cinema, no pool but six churches and seven pubs. There was a youth club once a week on Southchurch but that was it.
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Croaking!? bogger that. I have a plan to live forever. Woke up this morning, poked nose over duvet and thought, heh! plans still working.
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Actually I think its the A40 Devon. I have a picture but the upload keeps failing for some reason.
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Thanks Compo, I saw one of those cars in car showroom though I can't remember which one, I know they were Austin and I thought they were the best pedal car in the world.
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I remember petrol out in the sticks sold from hand wound pumps and Castrol oil sold in glass bottles,
Mothers breast feeding babies on the bus,
Buses with wooden slat seats.
Salvation army band playing in the street Sunday morning.
Hammering Segs and Blakeys into the soles and heels of your boots (and they were proper boots to).
Proper scooters and three wheeled bikes with a little bin at the back (god I sooo wanted one of those)
Making a slide on the ice in the playground and the rules as to what footwear you could have to use it.
Bonfires on guy Fawkes night setting fire to the tar on the cobbled street
Maypole dancing.
Vacuum tubes and wires in shops that sent little canisters whizzing to the office.
So many more...
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Oh wow! I've never seen anything like that, the pressure must have been immense even considering it failed along the weld lines. The compressor engines I've seen used on that type of tank (popularly known as 'pigs' from the discharge outlet arrangement) were Ford diesels, Petter diesels and VW Beatle petrol.
Thanks for the pic, that's one to save.
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I don't doubt the story of a tanker blowing up but can't see how. The tanks were pressurised by a rootes blower driven by a PTO off the gearbox and only pressured the tank to around 13lbs a squinch. They had pressure relief valves that you could 'fiddle' for a few extra lbs but enough to blow the tank? Seems doubtful. I do know that the silos they discharged into had crude filters and you could certainly blow them with the resulting great cloud of powder releasing into the atmosphere. If the load is slaked lime.. and the weather is damp... and there is a car park full of workers cars... Well lets just say the insurance company were not happy bunnies.
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Winter warmers are something I will never forget! My friends showed me how with a National Dried Milk tin. Light the tinder spin it round and it makes a great hand warmer they said. Tried it and ARGHHH... burnt hands, a perfect imprint of the paint from the tin on my palms and four hysterical 'friends'
Did you ever put rose hips (itchybacks) down the girls necks? or a nut or bolt in a tobacco tin with some daddy longs, girls loved the smell..
Spirit tapping involved an industrial sized cotton reel and you tied each knocker with two lines at an angle. As a car went through each door got two raps. It was great fun till dad went through on his bike. He stopped to get rid of the cotton he'd gathered and of course as he pulled it rapped some more. All the neighbours could see was this bloke in the middle of the street pulling on cotton and making the knockers rap their doors. They were not best pleased, father even less so. No sense of humour some people.
Did 'one potato' at the top of Nottintone Place. Gather in a circle, both fists in and someone start -one potato two... err weren't you supposed to holding the pram with your baby brother in it? Damn thing took off like an Exocet missile straight for the main road. Some guy bless him hurled himself across the road in front of a bus and stopped it in the nick of time. It was quite a long time before I could sit down.
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In the mid sixties I had blonde hair, peaches 'n' cream complexion, quite slim and couldn't grow facial hair if you paid me.
I can assure you the FH had more than it's fair share of those that bat for the other side.
Even so I had some great nights in there before moving on to the Bell, County Hotel, Corner Pin, Yates........ the rest got a bit hazy after that.
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I think Fly is closer with Albion although the Reiver series came later, BICBW
It looks a bit Thorneycrofty/Seddonny
I found this which looks very similar.
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Took the one I treasure and adore for a romantic seven course meal. I reckon the bruises will take about a week to go...
What's wrong with a bag of chips and a six pack anyway?
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Back in the day, Fiona Richmond had FU 2 - it was offered as a competition prize in a certain magazine.
I've seen 2 SLO on a sports car -Sunbeam Alpine but the best I know of was a Rolls Royce belonging to a haulier in Ilkeston. ER 11. People looked twice to see if 'she' was in the back.
Ooer just remembered when David Whitfield came to Nottingham his Bentley had DW 1 - I won't say where it was parked..
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Quite right..
ghosts
in Owt' Abaaht Nowt !
Posted
Let me state quite clearly that I do not believe in ghosts... but
I met my wife to be in the early '60s, she lived at that time in Bulcote in what was once a coaching inn built late 16 early 17 hundreds.It's grade 2 listed.The house is large with 7 or 8 bedrooms, a small library type sitting room, a main lounge with an inglenook fireplace that has direct access to the street. At some point in its history the archway that led to the stable block was bricked up and became the dining room, also with an inglenook large enough to stand in.
Up a narrow staircase and turn left led to a bedroom. Turn right there's a bedroom that leads to another bedroom. Through a room to reach a second room. The same arrangement on the next floor but with an exception. Where you should be able to go through a room to another room there is a blank wall. A secret room! I think the window was bricked up when there was a light tax but that doesn't explain why it was sealed.
Living there is her mam and dad, sister and two young brothers. There is quite a large annex that was lived in by older sister and husband.
The two boys often complained that their sister sat In a rocking chair in their room and refused to speak to them. I thought nothing of this until I was told their sister had gone town earlier on the bus. Hmmm, don't believe it. There's a ghost of a young girl they said but it only appears to females and young children. Hmmm well it would wouldn't it.
Married sister claims to have heard sounds of fighting in the small hours and metal clashing like a sword fight. Hmmm and how much did you drink before you heard it?
All of this they spoke of quite openly and did not seem overly concerned until the wedding.
They were volunteers for the Samaritans and took in a young unwed mother to be whilst a wedding was hastily arranged at Bulcote church. Wedding went OK and the reception was at the house. In the main reception area they loaded a large circular table with sherry glasses for the guests. As the guest started to enter the room people commented on how cold is was in the room (it was summer time) when a few seconds later the table and all the drinks crash to the floor. Hmm now that was a good trick.
Later there was just myself, the two girls and mate lounging in front of the fire in the dining room talking about this supposed ghost when Abby (an afghan hound) began howling, the grandfather clock struck once.. and stopped. There is probably a perfectly rational explanation for this but although we are laying in front of an open fire all of us were suddenly cold. Not chilly, shuddering cold and it lasted for a good few minutes. The girls accepted it better than I did. I wasn't frightened but I was certainly 'uncomfortable'. My mate flatly refused to go to bed until we found him a bible he could put under his pillow.
Later in bed I was suddenly aware that there was something on the bed and it was making its way slowly from my feet towards my face. It is so dark a hand just a fraction of an inch away can't be seen and now whatever the hell it is - is making a noise and seems to be probing each side of my legs as it advanced. OK so now I'm scared!. It gets closer and closer until something, barely perceptible is stroking my cheek... and its breathing!. I'm out of there like bat from hell and moving at a million miles an hour until I hit the door. It's pitch black, I've smacked my head and shoulder against a door and there is a howl like you wouldn't believe. Dearly beloved comes flying from her room with a torch to find me gibbering in a heap, a bloody nose and one very, very angry cat!
They forgot to tell me they had a blind cat with enormous whiskers who usually slept on the bed I was using and found its way round by feeling with its whiskers. At least it wasn't a ghost!