earlybird8

Congratulations on your golden wedding anniversary! Would I have known your wife, or did she start at Gees after I left? I seem to have an inkling that I was still there when you started. I left in September 65.

I started work at Gees in Norfolk Street in April '61 and Stan Marsh was Manager at that time. When they moved to Shoreham Street, Stan was replaced by one of the sales reps, Brian Rattigan. Stan then went out as a sales rep to replace Brian. Don't know if you remember names like Alan Elliott, Colin Craft, Malcolm Linley, Charlie and Brian Grant, Doug James, Don Staves, Don Gratwick, Ray Bamford, John Firminger, Bob Reid jnr & snr, Harry Bennett, Stan Ogden........could keep going! My name's Tom Porter.

We moved onto the Hackenthorpe estate in 1953. At that time the Derbyshire border sign was on the hill from Intake bottom to Frecheville, situated at the top of Linley Lane.

I worked at Gees when it was on Norfolk Street and then moved to Shoreham Street and worked there until 1965.

Hiya Domino, I note that your name is Maurice Copeland. I remember your name but can't put a face to it. My name is Tom Porter and I lived on Springwater Drive, bang opposite Barbara Snowden, and my brother Jim married one of her sisters. I was at a party with the family about 3 weeks ago, and Barbara was there, as drop dead gorgeous as ever, even after all these years! You mentioned that you saw her in the butchers on Birley Spa Lane when you visited in the 70's. It was actually Styans the bakers where she worked. Hope you don't mind me making contact, but I'm sure you'll be pleased to know she's still around, as our generation are getting on a bit! Regards Tom

MY TWO MOTHERS Just a mere lad of seven when I noticed the change Your split personality and behaviour so strange One day the mum that I simply adored Next day a stranger that struck a different chord But I still loved you, for you were my mother All those voices you’d hear going round in your mind Turned a sweet little lady, so loving and kind Into someone akin to a Jekyll and Hyde God alone knows how you felt deep inside For I couldn’t get through to my mother Schizophrenia back then was just not understood You spent months in the confines of old Middlewood How often I’ve wished I could have turned back the clock To save you the trauma of the electric shock For that was no way to treat my dear mother Most days like the devil, you put us through hell Yet loving and lovable at the times you were well But as you grew older, you slowly lost your resolve Though your alien actions I could always absolve For after all’s said and done, you’re my mother The last time I saw you was ’98 Christmas day To leave you was hard, I wanted so much to stay When I stooped o’er to kiss you, you looked up and smiled A spitting image of the mum I’d known as a child You were one in a million, my mother Now stood at your grave, I reflect on your life Such a cocktail of misery, sadness and strife But the memory I treasure is of your smiling face And my eyes fill with tears as I kneel down to place A single rose for a rose, my true mother Note from the author: If you have taken time to read this poem, it may well leave you feeling that my mum had very little quality of life, in which case it has succeeded in conveying the torment and anguish experienced by a paranoid schizophrenic. When my mum was well, I’d say there was none better; when she was ill there couldn’t be many worse. She evoked a whole range of emotions in those around her; anger, sadness, laughter, desperation, and of course, love. Due to her behavioural patterns, we never took holidays, and seldom went out as a family. These are things which I now regret, not selfishly, but for my mum, as I’ve since moved on to a fuller life, something she was sadly never able to experience. I also regret the fact that I never had the opportunity to know her better as my true mother.

Thanks a lot . It certainly came from the heart. Kind comments such as yours bring a great deal of comfort to me.

Thank you, Mollie. Already had a good weep as I placed a dozen red roses on her memorial in the garden.

Lost my lovely little lady back in January. Today would have been our 48th Wedding Anniversary. Wrote this little poem for her :- HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, SWEETHEART It’s our 48th Anniversary But we wouldn’t have made a fuss We’d most likely have gone for a ‘2 for 10’ Cos’ that was enough for us A stroll around Kiveton Woodland Holding hands down ‘Lupino Lane’ I’d give up all my tomorrows, love If we could do it just once again Though I know it’s not going to happen For that’s just the way of life But I’m so grateful that you consented To be my woman, and my wife Love always Tom xxxx

Only just started browsing the forum again as I lost my dear wife in January. Like this one John. My old man's been gone for some 28 years now, and he was profoundly deaf, so it was difficult to convey my feelings to him, and although we had a great deal of love and respect for each other, after his death I felt that I had missed opportunities to tell him how much he meant to me, so I wrote him this poem entitled 'A Friend Indeed' A FRIEND INDEED From my earliest childhood memories, I recall him being there It’s such a vivid picture, for like me he’d not much hair To me he seemed a giant, though only five feet eight Though looking back he was quite small, for he never carried weight He laboured in a foundry till the age of sixty-three Working for a pittance to support his family And whilst the odds were stacked against him, he never would complain Though his hearty smile belied the fact that he was often racked with pain To say I was afraid of him would be gross exaggeration For what I then mistook for fear was, in fact, admiration To be half the man that he was, I felt was my ambition And I’m sure he’d be the first to say I’ve followed his tradition I learned so very much from him throughout my early years He’d encourage my enthusiasm and help allay my fears And when I needed guidance he always would respond So by the time I’d reached my teens we’d formed a very special bond He was never very wealthy, and at times the shelves were bare But if I’d changed his love for money then I’d be a millionaire And in his later years I felt that nothing would suffice To pay him back for all the times when he’d had to sacrifice So if you’ve got a pal like I had, just be sure you let him know Before time, your greatest enemy, demands you let him go Tell him your true feelings, how on him you still depend And just how much he means to you, both as a father and a friend

A good friend of my fathers always used to say "Jesus wept, and well he might! "

I worked for Bramahs for 27 years, and yes, they did manufacture high quality stainless steel tableware, which was shipped all over the world. Sadly, like a lot of things, cheap imports took over, and production ceased. The aerospace side of the business absorbed the employees. The site at Halfway is now Doncaster Bramah, and as far as I know, continues solely in aerospace manufacture. The front office block and canteen now appear to be a lot of small businesses (incuding a nursery). A sign of the times!

I do remember your name, but can't put a face with it. I do think I can remember John calling you Billy. John was (is) a strange guy so it's not so surprising.

You've got it! Did you replace Brian Moat on the Doncaster run? If you were out driving most of the time, I probably wouldn't see much of you. What is your surname?