Notts Lad oop North

Sally Slick Slack and Sally No Nose

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I have to say though I recall a somewhat different kind of Sally Slick Slack. She'd push the pram up and down St Ann's Well road and sometimes she had a dog in there which she cooed to as if it was a baby. Never mind the weather, she wore what she wanted. I recall once seeing her on the hottest day of the year and she was wearing a heavy fur coat. Our dad told her she was mad wearing a coat that heavy in this heat and she went for him. She screamed that she had a paper from Mapperley hospital and it proved that she wasn't mad. She dived in the pram and bought out a tattered piece of yellow paper and waved it under dads nose then asked and had he got one? No he hadn't, of course and she cackled with laughter and called out "Now whose mad?"

Joy James

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I rememeber walking down London Road to the match one Saturday afternoon (Late as usual as I'd been working till 2.30) only to come across a rather disheveled old lady walking up the middle of the road (Funnily enough this would have been outside the Hanger showroon as discussed recently) She was pushing a big black pram, and as she passed I heard her cackling at me "Have another look fatty" and as I did so, a rather large 'tater came whizzing through the air in my general direction !

I hurried on my merry way watching the odd car swerving to avoid her ! (It was no where near as busy in those days, especially after kick off on a Saturday)

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Thanks for that Joy, a 'Like' from me as well :)

I seem to recall an old girl with dog(s) in a pram, Meadows, late 60s+?

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Sally Slick Slack on London road...The Meadows?? Not a hop skip and a jump from Sneinton Market is it?

GOODBYE DRURY HILL & SNEINTON MARKET

Why did they pull down Drury Hill?

Why waste it that infamous day?

From Weekday Cross to old Broad Marsh

it had ever led the way.

Small it was and oh so steep,

but worthy of this humble ditty,
with tiny footpath, this cobbled street,

run down yet oh so pretty.

Never could a car get past,

its road being far too narrow,

the only traffic built for it,

were feet and the odd wheelbarrow.

A bookshop stood here,

a dress shop on the right,

a cobblers and clockmakers too, and traders lived behind their shops,

though of comforts there were few.

In summer the sun was warm and kind

and bathed it in golden light,

But it was postcard pretty when frosted over

in glorious winter white.

Slippy it was sometimes

and I took the odd tumble there.
But it didn’t ever stop me using

that ancient thoroughfare.

But ‘they’ thought it in the way

and would stop their shopping mall,
so they took a vote and sent this street

cruelly to the wall.

This lovely place was flattened by the stroke of a pen

never to be seen by the light of day again.

Oh later they said they were sorry,

it had been a big mistake!
And now the market at Sneinton

has been dealt the same horrid fate.

The market we nce knew and loved

the council have seen it off,
frequented for centuries

by the poor man and the toff.

It’s supported thousands of families,

clothed and fed many more.

Kept Nottingham City going,

right through the second world war.

Through all these many centuries,

of the market folk t’was said,
'They stood out in all weathers

to earn their daily bread.’

Jacky Pownall sold baskets of pots,

he’d haul them up on his hip,
throw them high in the air

and they’d crash down with never a chip.

I’m glad old Sally Slick Slacks gone,

all alone she just sold rags.
A tanner for a bunch of lace,

earned enough for her pint and fags!

‘Reg the veg’ stood near the school,

everyone’s mate, no-body's fool.
Tough as old boots who midst the clamour,

filled old folks bags and said “Gi' us a tanner.”

I went there wi’ our mam once,

she bought me a cardi of blue.
I’d never owned anything before

of so soft and pretty a hue.

She paid a penny halfpenny

and I wore it with great pride,
till she washed and spoilt it

and I cried and cried and cried.

And shoes I got with ankle straps,

brown leather with a shine.
On showing them to my friend Pat,

she said “They once were mine.”

Every market manager,

be he Joseph , Sam or Jack,

was always known as ‘Toby’,

bet a quid you didn’t know that.

And there have been hundreds of ‘Toby’s’,

on that market through many a year,
but on their death bed you can be sure;

the council won’t shed a tear.

Oh Sneinton I shall miss you,

your noise and friendly chatter,
some brave folk tried to stop them

but it was far too late to matter.

They’ll swap this institution f

or high gloss granite and chrome
and fancified upholstery

of chipboard and coloured foam.

Oh there’ll be gyms and fancy shops,

of those we have enough
and to folk like me who mourn its loss,

the council men say ‘Tough!’

And not too far along the years,

trust me, just you wait,
some council man will make his name

and say it’s out of date!

I know not who thought this one up,

by face nor yet by name,
but I sincerely hope I live to see you

hang your head in shame.
















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Sally Slick Slack on London road...The Meadows?? Not a hop skip and a jump from Sneinton Market is it?

GOODBYE DRURY HILL & SNEINTON MARKET

Why did they pull down Drury Hill?

Why waste it that infamous day?

From Weekday Cross to old Broad Marsh

it had ever led the way.

Small it was and oh so steep,

but worthy of this humble ditty,
with tiny footpath, this cobbled street,

run down yet oh so pretty.

Never could a car get past,

its road being far too narrow,

the only traffic built for it,

were feet and the odd wheelbarrow.

A bookshop stood here,

a dress shop on the right,

a cobblers and clockmakers too,

and traders lived behind their shops,

though of comforts there were few.

In summer the sun was warm and kind

and bathed it in golden light,

But it was postcard pretty when frosted over

in glorious winter white.

Slippy it was sometimes

and I took the odd tumble there.
But it didn’t ever stop me using

that ancient thoroughfare.

But ‘they’ thought it in the way

and would stop their shopping mall,
so they took a vote and sent this street

cruelly to the wall.

This lovely place was flattened by the stroke of a pen

never to be seen by the light of day again.

Oh later they said they were sorry,

it had been a big mistake!
And now the market at Sneinton

has been dealt the same horrid fate.

The market we once knew and loved

the council have seen it off!
Twas frequented for centuries

by the poor man and the toff.

It’s supported thousands of families,

clothed and fed many more.

Kept Nottingham City going,

right through the second world war.

Through all these many centuries,

of the market folk t’was said,
'They stood out in all weathers

to earn their daily bread.’

Jacky Pownall sold baskets of pots,

he’d haul them up on his hip,
throw them high in the air

and they’d crash down with never a chip.

I’m glad old Sally Slick Slacks gone,

all alone she just sold rags.
A tanner for a bunch of lace,

earned enough for her pint and fags!

‘Reg the veg’ stood near the school,

everyone’s mate, no-body's fool.
Tough as old boots who midst the clamour,

filled old folks bags and said “Gi' us a tanner.”

I went there wi’ our mam once,

she bought me a cardi of blue.
I’d never owned anything before

of so soft and pretty a hue.

She paid a penny halfpenny

and I wore it with great pride,
till she washed and spoilt it

and I cried and cried and cried.

And shoes I got with ankle straps,

brown leather with a shine.
On showing them to my friend Pat,

she said “They once were mine.”

Every market manager,

be he Joseph , Sam or Jack,

was always known as ‘Toby’,

bet a quid you didn’t know that.

And there have been hundreds of ‘Toby’s’,

on that market through many a year,
but on their death bed you can be sure;

the council won’t shed a tear.

Oh Sneinton I shall miss you,

your noise and friendly chatter,
some brave folk tried to stop them

but it was far too late to matter.

They’ll swap this institution f

or high gloss granite and chrome
and fancified upholstery

of chipboard and coloured foam.

Oh there’ll be gyms and fancy shops,

of those we have enough
and to folk like me who mourn its loss,

the council men say ‘Tough!’

And not too far along the years,

trust me, just you wait,
some council man will make his name

and say it’s out of date!

I know not who thought this one up,

by face nor yet by name,
but I sincerely hope I live to see you

hang your head in shame.
















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