Strange neighbours


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I've recently been posting a fair bit on the Alfreton Road thread and the street I used to live on came up. Member FLY had lived on the same Crescent but in earlier times than me. Anyway I was recalling my neighbours and one rather odd one came to mind. This lady lived with her brother who reminded me of Blakey from 'on the buses'. I think they were foreign, Polish or Eastern European. Both never spoke or had anything to do with any other neighbours. I couldn't tell you their name and if we were referring to her she was always called lipstick due to her very bright lipstick always worn. One day it was very windy. I mean gales. This was pre wheelie bin and we had a plastic dustbin with one of those clip on lids. I happened to be looking out the front window. My house was on a raised area with quite a steep drive and I saw my bin lid roll down the drive where it did a few laps of the round top of the crescent. Lipstick shot out her house, picked up my bin lid and disappeared inside. I thought it was nice for her to stop it blowing away and some time later I went and knocked on her door and asked for the bin lid. She said she didn't know what I was on about and slammed the door. Refused to answer again so that evening I accessed her back yard which wasn't easy due to gates thorns and hedges and liberated my lid which was propped up by her back door. Nothing was ever said. I think that in the years she lived there this was the only time we spoke. All very odd.

Have other forum members had strange neighbours. Come on. You must have had.

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I grew up in the same house where my mother had been born and lived all her life. The neighbours had also been there since her childhood and she grew up and was good friends with their children.

 

On one side of us lived Mr and Mrs S who were in their 60s when I was born. They had one daughter who was a year older than my mother. Virtually everyone worked at Player's in those days and Mr S and his daughter were no exception. The daughter had attended Miller's business college in Nottingham and worked as a secretary. It was said that her mother's ambition was to marry her off to one of the directors and to  this end, the daughter was always dressed up to the nines. Eventually, she married a boat builder and went to live in Cornwall. Mrs S often sent my sister and I her daughter's cast off clothes and shoes from the 40s and 50s for our dressing up box. They were beautiful! Ball gowns, sequined shoes, the lot!

 

Anyway, Mr and Mrs S, being retired, often went to stay with their daughter and son-in-law in Cornwall for perhaps a month or two months at a time and when they did so they would leave the keys of their house with my mother who would keep an eye on it and make sure that everything was alright. Shortly before they were due to return, mum would receive a letter giving the date and she would ensure that there were provisions in and ready for when Mr and Mrs S came back.

 

I would often go with mum when she went into the house to check on things and also before Mr and Mrs S came home, she would switch on the electric blankets to ensure that the beds were aired, especially if it was winter time. I was quite perplexed to discover that although Mr and Mrs S were married, they slept not only in different beds but in different rooms and I asked my mother the reason why. She gave me some explanation about it being a 3 bedroomed house and they had plenty of room to spread out but it still seemed rather odd to me. it wasn't until many years later that I discovered the real reason for the separate bedrooms.

 

Further up the road and living next door to my good childhood friend Margaret Beardsall, was Mrs W who was a widow and, apparently, a very difficult neighbour to cope with. She was forever complaining to Margaret's parents about something or other and Margaret's family disliked Mrs W very much indeed. Many years later, my mother explained to me that during the years of the Second World War, Mr S had been employed driving Player's 'ship' (which always amused me because I couldn't imagine how anyone could drive a ship). It had been noticed during those years that whenever Mr S and the ship were away from home, often at the east coast, Mrs W would also disappear from her house and generally return at the same time as Mr S. It transpired that the two of them were having an affair and when Mrs S found out that was the end of sharing the same bed never mind the same bedroom and the real reason why Mr S had been relegated to the boxroom!

 

As if that wasn't bad enough, my mother also told me that during the war years, there were sometimes air raids in the middle of the night and everyone would get out of bed and traipse down the garden to the Anderson Shelter at the bottom. It was during these night-time air raids that it became blatantly obvious that Mr S spent his evenings getting p^ssed as a newt, which was only discovered when the neighbours heard him shouting and swearing at having his sleep disturbed.

 

These days, no one would bat an eyelid and I suppose people would be washing their dirty linen in public and yelling and screaming at one another about their misdemeanors but in those days it was all hidden under a thin veneer of respectability. People who drank and people who were unfaithful to their spouse were regarded as extremely disreputable and I suppose in order to avoid the stigma (although all the neighbours were aware anyway) Mr and Mrs S remained together as a couple but modified their living arrangements in order to reflect Mrs S's disgust with her husband's behaviour!

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Great post Jill!..a period in time captured. As you say different times.

At my Mother's funeral quite a few tales about wartime Radford came out.

Incest  and draught- dodging and black market..all abound on Bloomsgrove St.

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I lived for 13 years smack in the centre of Nottm..and being in a hub like 

Skynner Street..i witnessed a few sights.

It would be an insult to say my immediate neighbours were strange- the Salmon family ( long gone) Les,Harold, Sam and Lil.

The bow legged Mother, Lil donned a crimson beret  all year round..why she poured Epsom salts over the greens when cooking was a mystery/ but the outside toilet did bear witness to this practice!

Harold was in the Palestine Police Force and even when drowning in ale..he was bolt upright- MP style.

My Dad returning from fencing in Leicester one night found him curled up fast asleep on the zebra crossing outside the Mansfield Arms..cars driving around him!

He gave Harold a fireman's lift and carried him to bed..Lil showed my Dad the other Brother ,Sam - he was asleep..blottoed with a brown sauce bottle full of warm milk,rum and blackcurrant in his mouth- he had attached a baby's teet to the bottle with an elastic band!

My first job was to hold the fort at Dennis & Roberts on a Saturday morning whilst Sam sat in the Snug at The Peacock.

Les returned from 'Butlins' quite often with a fine ' Lincoln' suntan!

Yet they minded me,treated me and never seemed anyway odd to me.

Even though in the end the Gas Board refused to put anymore padlocks on the meter and a meat fork entered Harold's head over Sunday lunch- in front of me..they introduced me to jazz/roast parsnips/celery with salt and Luncheon Ale.Fagin characters indeed- but great neighbours.. who told me some fantastic Glasshouse War stories.

Bless 'em.

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Our neighbour on the other side when I was a child was Mrs B. By the time I came along, she was a white haired widow, a truly lovely lady of whom my mother was extremely fond. Things had been different in earlier years though. Mr B, also a Player's employee, was a White Ribboner...he'd signed the pledge and no alcohol was permitted in their home. My mother was a close friend of both Mr and Mrs B's daughters. Both were Manning pupils, one a year older and one a year younger than my mum.

 

Since all homes had pianos in those days and both my mum and the elder B daughter played pretty well, mum often went round there for a musical evening, where everyone sang and joined in.

 

The younger B daughter and my mum were inveterate gigglers, as young girls tend to be. Mr B didn't tolerate giggling and his cure for anything his daughters did which he regarded as transgressions, was a few strokes of the cane! He never used it on my mother...there'd have been trouble if he had.

 

Those poor girls suffered regular canings for trivial offences and my mother felt terribly sorry for them.

 

At the age of 21 and, legally, an adult, the younger B daughter sloped off to Paris for the weekend with Keith Males whose family ran a butcher's shop on the corner of Gregory Boulevard and Birkin Avenue. Heaven only knows what befell her when her father found out about that!

 

Mr B was still living when my sister was very young and although she loved to go round and spend an hour with Mrs B, she'd come tearing back home when Mr B appeared. To this day, she vividly recalls her great fear of him.

 

As with many Player's employees, Mr B received a cigarette allowance and it was the evil weed that did for him in the end. Lung cancer. He was only in his 50s and still at work. Mrs B lived to be 90 plus and although she had a number of proposals, never remarried. Can't say I blame her. Mr B can't have been much fun!

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Turning to my father's side of the family, he was born at 21 Church Street, Beeston and a few years later moved to 12 Chapel Street, a house his maternal grandfather owned.

 

My paternal grandmother, Kate Sparrow, was a lady not to be messed with. Blessed with her own father's hair trigger temper and an uncanny knack for hitting a moving target with any object thrown from her left hand, many people in Beeston were scared to death of her.

 

Domestic violence, as we term it today, was rife in Beeston in the early 30s. My father was a regular witness to battered females knocking at the door of number 12 and begging to see Kate. They'd be invited in, bleeding, bruised and weeping. Given a cup of tea and, no doubt, a slice of Kate's latest inedible effort at cake making, they'd sit by the fire and pour out details of the latest assault by their spouse.

 

Kate would tell them to remain by her fireside but would then get up, take her ivory handled carving knife from the drawer and sally forth to whichever abode in Beeston the poor woman came from. My father was never permitted to accompany her and his father never tried to stop Kate going.

 

Perhaps 20 minutes later, Kate would return, knife in hand, grin on her face and announce: "You can go home now. It's quite safe. He won't touch you!"

 

Precisely what she did or said during these visits to the hard men of Beeston no one knows but she always returned unscathed and quite clearly got some kind of kick out of it. My father noticed that when they were out shopping, everyone treated his mother with a level of respect bordering on fear, so whatever she got up to with 1930s domestic violence perpetrators must have worked!

 

I still have the carving knife. I tell you, I wish it could talk!  ;)

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#7

 

No doubt about it, Loppy, Kate meant business. She was 63 when I was born but, even as an old lady, she still had an aura of menace about her. Had to be careful what we said.

 

Turned out that number one candidate for the eunuchry was my paternal grandfather, Ted. Ted ran a grocery shop in Middle Street in the mid to late 20s and often delivered orders to customers with his horse and dray.  As a four year old boy, my dad frequently accompanied him.

 

Dad was unwise enough to complain to his mother about deliveries made to the unfortunately named Mrs Adcock who lived in Farfield Avenue. Mrs A was a widow whose husband had been killed in the Great War and she seemed to spend a lot of time ordering provisions from Ted. Not nearly as much time as Ted spent delivering them, though!

 

My father confided to his already suspicious mother that waiting for ages in all weathers outside the house in Farfield Avenue while Ted was indoors irritated him. Not half as much as it irritated Kate, who spent the rest of their 50 year marriage making Ted pay for his infidelity.

 

Out of the mouths of babes, as they say!  :rolleyes:

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As I have mentioned I lived in Radford/Bobbers Mill. One of my neighbours was a man in his late 50's. I knew nothing of his circumstance and initially he lived alone but he aquired a lady friend and together they obviously enjoyed a very active sex life. They seemed to think that every one else should also enjoy it and could often be seen at it in a variety of positions in the front downstairs room with the light on. Their enthusiasm and athletism was Impressive but neither would win a beauty contest and it was not a pretty sight. 

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There was a lot of "fly- by nighters" living on Skynner St..as well as seasoned dwellers.

As kids - we circumvented bothering to know there names and gave them 'handles'..Mrs Sweepy front,Peas on Bread,Six brown Eggs,Big Belt,The Hungarian, Chinese Bulgy,Piss Funk..to name but a few...the titles don't take much working out!

A neighbour George flashed his thingy to Rose Jackson in the entry....

he was greeted most nights to 10 or 11 housewives banging saucepans with spoons as he passed.

Mrs Polish was very cross and " shoes" meant clear away from my house.

Armstrong had one leg ( war) he loved his Standard.. and clipped my Brother once too often..he smeared dog poo on his door handles.

There was a tenement family from Scotland who starved their kids..Ness and Jock..she fed them marrowfat peas on dry bread. Their son went to Elliott Durham- called at my house every morning 'cause he knew a big fry was on the go..my Mum had a plate and mug 'reserved' for him...as we would not use the same delph or eating irons!

Shameful.. Mum dropped a line into Kings St.and reported it.

Thames,he was shifty..but my Dad broke his hand..neighbours eh?

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Blummin eck Ian.You did see life when you lived in Nottm Miduck. I do enjoy reading about your memories.  Some do make me smile, though I know times were hard for some in those early days.  I bet you knew some of my lot, who lived around your area. I had better keep quiet I think. :biggrin:

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7 hours ago, philmayfield said:

You didn't have to watch!

Walking past someone swinging on the chandelier just catches your eye. You can't help it, and I assure you I never watched. 

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  • 3 weeks later...
On 26 October 2016 at 0:52 PM, Jill Sparrow said:

Our neighbour on the other side when I was a child was Mrs B. By the time I came along, she was a white haired widow, a truly lovely lady of whom my mother was extremely fond. Things had been different in earlier years though. Mr B, also a Player's employee, was a White Ribboner...he'd signed the pledge and no alcohol was permitted in their home. My mother was a close friend of both Mr and Mrs B's daughters. Both were Manning pupils, one a year older and one a year younger than my mum.

 

Since all homes had pianos in those days and both my mum and the elder B daughter played pretty well, mum often went round there for a musical evening, where everyone sang and joined in.

 

The younger B daughter and my mum were inveterate gigglers, as young girls tend to be. Mr B didn't tolerate giggling and his cure for anything his daughters did which he regarded as transgressions, was a few strokes of the cane! He never used it on my mother...there'd have been trouble if he had.

 

Those poor girls suffered regular canings for trivial offences and my mother felt terribly sorry for them.

 

At the age of 21 and, legally, an adult, the younger B daughter sloped off to Paris for the weekend with Keith Males whose family ran a butcher's shop on the corner of Gregory Boulevard and Birkin Avenue. Heaven only knows what befell her when her father found out about that!

Jill. My wife knew a Mrs Bee. Worked at Cleggs solicitors and lived Player Street or nearby. Could this be your Mrs B?

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  • 3 years later...

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