zakes

Collecting Autographs 4. Pens: Take plenty with you, six will suffice. The see through Bic biros are the best because you can see if the ink is due to run out. Before leaving home you must test your biro’s for writeability. Firstly find an old Woman’s Own magazine or a newspaper like the Daily Sketch then you can start to test. (A) Try pressing on hard but write slowly. (B) Try pressing on hard but write fastly. © Try pressing on gently but write slowly. (D) Try pressing on gently but write fastly. You also must be careful not to take pens that leave flaky lines. If you use one of those you will regret it later when you look back in years to come when you see the fading autograph, and you’ll wish you’d used a good pen instead. Never use blue, green or red ink because your autograph will fade. Always use black ink, I did and look how successful I was. You must also use the thickest Bic ballpoint because the thinner points can easily tear the paper if you receive an autograph from somebody who presseson, and writes fastly or slowly. The reason for six pens is if you take lots of pics with you you may encounter a group of players whiling the time away, in other words they’re bored. That is the time to dish out a pile of photo’s to each player along with a pen. Beware! Never go with flashy Parker type pens because these can quite easily disappear into the top pocket of a footballer’s blazer. When you meet a player: Never ever address them by Christian name, always address them as Sir or Mr. (whatever he’s called). This will make them feel important, and they will assume you to be a well bred person. Whilst you are addressing him withdraw from your record bag, attaché case, rucksack or Tesco carrier bag your folder, annual or scrapbook and politely ask him to sign. At the same time as this action you must offer him your black inked Bic biro with the thick ballpoint. This will put him on the spot forcing him to sign for you. Battle won! Remember to always look them in the eye(s) without being stary or cocky. Just look neutral with a slight smile and always be polite and be careful not to w-nk, and avoid giving fleeting looks at all costs. If the player is sat down then avoid standing too close because he will think you are hovering and will see it as an act of aggression. In such a situation your chances of an autograph will be zero. If the player is standing then you will be on equal footing, just follow the instructions above. If the player is on the move (walking) then you have 3 possibilities; (1) Approach from behind and speak to him. Chances are he will ignore you. Result=no autograph. (2) Approach from the side, right or left of him. If he has good hearing he will hear you and he will decide whether to acknowledge you or not, 50-50. However he may have tunnel vision. Result=no autograph. (3) Full on face to face then speak to him. The player then has the option to stop still. If he chooses to do this you must have your pics of him ready for him to sign. Always turn the book around to face him or you will receive an upside down autograph. It all depends on the player as to what will happen. If it’s Kevin Doyle he will stop and promptly sign. If it’s Ronaldo he will either run around or jump over you and escape. If it’s Ashley Young he will fall on the floor and try to nutmeg you by trying to crawl through your legs. Always in such situations keep your lower limbs closed. If it’s Joey Barton then you are a very brave boy indeed. If you know you are going to be meeting up with Mr. Barton my only piece of advice would be for you to turn up wearing a suit of armour. Suits of armour can be hired from a shop two doors up from the Golden Egg café on Fargate. Alternatively you can get them from Cockaynes on Snig Hill at the side entrance where the Birdcage café is situated. If you don’t get kitted out at these two shops then you will have to ask your mum to search through the Star Ad’s. Good luck. 7. Calvin Palmer. Sunderland were playing in Sheffield and stayed at Hallam Towers in the late 60’s. I had as usual bought the Soccer Star mag on Thursday and the main picture on the front was Calvin Palmer. I cut the picture out and put it to the other Sunderland stuff I was planning to get signed. For reasons I can’t remember I didn’t go to the hotel on the Friday evening when the team arrived, but went Saturday morning instead. On arrival I didn’t have to wait long for some of the players to come out for their after brekkie stroll, and one of a group of three was Calvin Palmer. Palmer was never the easiest player to get signed but this time he seemed to be quite willing. I gave him my pen to write with then opened my folder and his eyes almost popped out of his head. He said something like…”What’s this, I’ve not seen this before?” I told him it was from this week’s Soccer Star. He gave me my pen back without saying anything but told me he would when he came back. He then marched apace down the driveway to the Fulwood Road exit/entrance leaving his two team mates and myself in his midst. Palmer eventually came back and true to his word he signed all my pictures for me, but first had to put down on the low wall the pile of Soccer Stars he had bought at Broomhill shops. He should have been named Calvain Palmer. Ugh. P.S. Ref:- signed pictures – unfortunately the majority of my Blades pics are at someones house. Also the pics you have seen are just a portion of what I have. Me mum threw loads away years ago. Cow!

If you look to the thread COLLECTING AUTOGRAPHS, you will see more pics.

Anybody from Hackenthorpe? Hackenthorpe and Zakes Part 23. I you come down Birley Spa Lane then take a left turn into Carter Lodge Avenue you will see immediately on the left a green grassy area containing lots of bushy bushes and plants. Opposite are eight houses (4 detached), of which 7 are classed as Carter Lodge Avenue and one as Birley Spa Lane. If you the reader, disbelieve me as I suspect you do, put your duffel coat on and go take a look if you live nearby. When you get back send a post of apology ASAP, or will you quietly disappear into the crowd? I bet most people who have lived on Carter Lodge Avenue didn’t know about the end house being classed as being on Birley Spa Lane. Some will say they knew (fibbers), and most will say “Who cares?” Well, I ruddy well care and so should you. hOuses have feelings just like you and me! Next time you pass that house give it a smile, bow or wave and show you care. You will make it feel much better. Some people on Carter Lodge Avenue I knew during my time there as a nipper 1959-65. Glossops – 2 or 4 Wilsons – 12 Mallinsons – 14 Fairfaxs – 24 Pollards – 26 Masons – 38 Faireys – 5 Ludlums – 7 Drabbles – 27(?) Wraggs – 35 Harrisons - ? even nr. Gleadhill - ? even nr. - and others. I got barred in 64-65 from the Rex flicks with Peter Gle(a)dhill, so there. Meanwhile back at the ranch, the green area opposite the houses was surrounded on three sides by road and one side by a series of small steps 25-30 in all. When I first saw this steep green patch it didn’t have bushes or plants on it. In the cold white winters of the early 60’s we used to spend many hours sledging and snowballing there. When the weather was warmer months later we young ‘uns played football and French cricket on it. When us boys were elsewhere (scrimping) the girls would come out to play on this green field to play rounders or compete in a poggy pogo stick competition and other such boring pastimes. Those fun days on the patch atween Birley Spa Lane and Carter Lodge Avenue were soon to be coming to an end because …… At the top of the series of steps lived a woman in the first house (127 Birley Spa Lane) called Mrs Watson. She wasn’t as far as I knew related to the Watson’s who ran the Sportsman pub on Main Street, nor was she related to a lad called Ronald Watson who lived higher up on Birley Spa Lane. This Mrs Watson was a loud throated cowbag who used to shout at us children to clear off to where we belonged. She would stand at her doorway in fluffy slippers and jab her walking stick at us to give extra power to her shouted words. “Go on clear off, I know where you live. I’ll have the police on yer.” The constant gobbiness of killjoy Mrs Watson went on for years, and during that time, I got to thinking ‘how it was possible for her to see us playing lower down to where we were’. If she was sat in the back of her house she wouldn’t have been able to see us if her sitting furniture was of regulation height, whether it be an armchair, tuffet, rocking chair, piano stool or even a Swiss salamander skin settee. All she would be able to see would be the roofs of houses on Carter Lodge Avenue, the woeful sight of Woodhouse on the far horizon, the occasional Albatross or Bald Eagle gliding by, or on special occasions like birthdays or bank holidays, a multi coloured hot air balloon complete with hamper basket aneath drifting by. My conclusion was Mrs Watson was stood in her kitchen with a single lensed telescope willfully waiting for us to turn up to play. Mrs Watson got her way in the end because the Corporation men came to our grassy green patch and hammered into the ground a small sign saying No Ball Games. At first we continued to play football there and would use the new sign as a goalpost if we were short of a jumper. It seemed Mrs Watson must have reported us again because the Corporation men returned, dug up a large of our patch then planted them bushes and plants. They did the same thing 50 yards further into Carter Lodge Avenue and in other places around our Hackenthorpe estate. Family Zakes left the estate in late ’65 and I never got to see the bushes get big and bushy. I did later often wonder whether those bushes would offer the perfect cover for mankin’ mankers, of all age groups. I wouldn’t mind betting that the telescope owning Mrs Watson didn’t sleep much then……By choice! ---------- Post added 06-01-2013 at 05:15 ---------- Anybody from Hackenthorpe? Hackenthorpe and Zakes Part 24. 1. I recall one year in the early 60’s I got for Christmas a track suit in Lev Yashin black. It looked exactly like one of them that Walter Winterbottom used to wear, which was elasticated at the cuffs and at the bottom of the legs. I also got a football too, as well to boot. I went out into the freezing cold morning air on Christmas Day with the new trackie and ball and kicked about for a good half hour forth and back along Carter Lodge Drive. It was wasted time because nobody came out to play with me. Mardy bums. Back in the house again I turned my attention to my second present which was a shooting gallery. This was a wire stand with a thin bar across the top (like a bar where gymnastic gymnasts swing around and around then jump off). Along the bar were 6 fixed hard plastic crows and each was a different colour. To complete the set there was a rifle that had a long piece of string attached to it with a cork on the end. The idea was to shoot at the crows which would spin on the bar if you hit one. The crows, that didn’t caw were purple, orange, black, green, white and blue. After 20 minutes of shooting I then decided to make a start on my selection box (the contents), and a glazed pink pg made of marzipan. It was impossible to bite into the pig so I just scraped (gnawed) away at it with me teeth. The pig lasted for several days. 2. The following Xmas I was given as my main prezzy a safari outfit and a flashy torch, but no rifle. The safari suit was a big buttoned shirt with epaulettes at the shoulders and the trousers were trousers, and both were off buff coloured. The hard plastic safari hat and the suede leather boots were also in the same colour. When I first donned the outfit I felt like Abbott and Costello who wore similar garb in a film I’d scene previously. The torch was shaped like a mini periscope, and with a press of a finger I could shine the torch in my choice of colour. It could shine in red, blue, green, and white, but not in black. Later when me mum was in the kitchen preparing Christmas din dins and listening to carols on the wireless, I was striding around the house (inside) fully kitted out on patrol. I could have sworn I heard between O’Tannenbaum and Hark the Herald blah, blah, blah, Bert Kaempfert’s Afrikaan Beat startin’ up, or was it Jungle Bells? My second present was a rocket launcher and the family Zakes’ living room ceiling took a reight bashing that year. The toy was a square base 8” by 8” approx, and the idea was to launch a rocket. The rocket was slightly triangular in shape and about 6” long and looked like one of those ice rocket lolly’s you could get from the ice cream van (but not in winter). The phallic shaped rocket was fixed erect onto the launch pad, then with a continual back and forth movement of the hand whilst gripping the joystick at the same time the pressure would build up. When the required tension was reached it would be released by pressing a button making the rocket shoot off causing damage to the ceiling followed by a white sprinkling on to the carpet……from the plastering. After 20 exhausting minutes of rocket launching I washed my hands then made a start on my selection box (the contents), and you’ve guessed it……My glazed pink pig made of marzipan. Ugh.

Anybody from Hackenthorpe? Hackenthorpe and Zakes Part 22. (1). I never wanted to be the ringleader but that’s what I became because I was the one with the ideas. I knew by having the same set of lads we would become unstuck and get caught from time to time. I rotated the squad like football managers would many, many years later. It was me and only me who started that system lol. When I went on scrimping adventures I needed to have bright eyed and bushy tailed types with me. There was no room for stale complacement men, and there certainly was no place for banana custard yellowy types. I preferred to scromp in a threesome, two do’ers and a lookout. There was nine of us all told, seven regulars and two reserves. We did our scromping for love and not for money. We may have swiped the odd everlasting strip or two, or perhaps a comic or two. We may also have put through a window or two as well but all in all we innocently went about our business. The people we despised most were teachers, burglars and coppers, thrown in with a few bread delivery men and the odd vendor of ice cream. I did Recce’s on my own, solo without assistance. I would wander around the estate in a slow and relaxed way taking casual glances up or down pathways. Sometimes I would walk up a path to see what fruit was on offer in the back garden and if I was met by any of the householder’s I would just ask if they had any windfalls to give away. More about this later. (2). Do any of you know these names? – I do. June Tween – Rainbow Ave. Robert Maycock – Springwater Cl. Martin Wragg – Carter Lodge Ave. Glyn Sills – Birley Spa Ln. Patricia Millington – Carr Forge Close Timothy Conroy – Springwater Ave. (3). Remember free school milk? When we had those very cold winters in the 60’s, I recall our milk at Birley Spa Juniors was often frozen in the bottle. I used to try to thaw it out between my mittened or begloved hands to no avail. (4). When I wanted peace and quiet or had the face on, I went to my bedroom or I’d go to the church grounds on Sheffield Road. It was really tranquil at the church and I remember the strong smell of incense which was so aromatic. The grounds were surrounded by thorny Hawthorn, Holly and Sycamore and was a wonderful retreat.

Anybody from Hackenthorpe? Hackenthorpe and Zakes Part 21. (1). Me Dad once told me there were a load of conkers lying about near to where he worked at Tungsten Carbide. I pounced upon hearing this and begged him to, “Please, please bring me a bagful.” The next evening or the evening after I came home from having been out playing and saw on the kitchen table a big brown leather suitcase. Me Dad opened it and inside were millions of shiny brown conkers, all just for me. He had carried the heavy case all the way from work, yippee! ‘Why couldn’t Mum be as nice as Dad?’ This would save me from having to go up Pigs Lane to climb through the hole in the fence into the grounds of Rainbow Forge Infants where there were several conker trees. I’d spent many hours throwing sticks up at the trees trying to dislodge them spiky green ball things with the conkers inside. I spent the next few days avidly piercing the suitcased conkers using me Mums soon to be bent knitting needles. I then stored them in a corner of our indoor ‘outhouse’ where me Dad bred his budgies. Thanks Dad. (2). I remember the time when Dad brought home for me a pheasant egg for my bird egg collection. He hadn’t ‘blown’ the egg because he didn’t know he had to. Some dads are sometimes quite dumb. Blowing an egg means to rid it of it’s inner content, the yolk and the rest of the gubbins. If at home, you can use a pin to pierce both ends of the egg then you blow into one one of the holes gently until everything comes out. If you have difficulty clearing the egg then blow harder or make the holes bigger. The best places to ‘blow’ an egg are over the kitchen sink, over the toilet, or whilst you are leaning out of a window. If you choose the latter option then it’s best to hang out from an upstairs window. The reason for doing this is because there is usually a slight draught higher up, and the draught will carry the snot like contents of the egg into a neighbouring garden. That way you will have avoided having problems with your Mum for besmirching her best blue Begonias. If you are in a field or a boggy marsh, then feel free to ‘blow’ the egg whilst you are facing downwards. Make sure you have the wind at your back because if you don’t you may end up with egg on your face or worse still, you won’t be able to avoid having problems with your mum for besmirching your best blue Beatles jacket. If you choose the outside option then please remember the innards of the egg will become food for insects or other birds, like Jays and Jackdaws. (3). There was a third set of twins I knew on the estate. June and Gary (Gus) Clifford. They lived at 5 Carr Forge Walk (A) They were 2 days older older than me as Nigel West was. They were all born 28-3-1954. (B) Gary told me once that he had a dental appointment next day. At Charles Clifford, but not related. © I came across them one Whitsuntide in early 60’s on the estate. We were showing off our new clothes trying to earn a bob or two. On a grass verge Gus found an intact pigeon egg. He obviously wasn’t an egg collector like me because when he picked up the egg heavy handedly it burst open. The yolk amazingly flew out of the shell and landed with a silent splat onto June’s brand new pale green floral coloured dress. Gus looked quite stunned, June ran off home with tears of sadness running down her face. I walked off also in tears…Tears of laffter!

Smoking Is Bad For You, It Can Give You A Sore Backside. If you recall I once mentioned that the barbate pigeon toed art teacher Mr. Tucker (Tinga to his friends) once caught me enjoying a well earned cigarette during the house teams sports day, then told me I was a disgrace to the empire. I also mentioned the time when Mr. Shimwell caught me smoking in the boys bogs then dragged me to Lines’ office by my collar. It seems to me that every misdemeanour had to be reported to the headmaster because the teachers were duty bound. After the two above mentioned instances my world at Birley School became somewhat Kafka-esque because not long after, I was searched on three occasions by Mr. Lines, twice by Shimwell and once each by Fidler and Knox for fags. If they were that short of fags then they would have only had to ask and they could have borrowed a few. It got to the stage when I had to hide fags and matches inside my socks or hidden underneath wash basins in the bogs. I even on occasions would have a ciggie hidden in one of my fountain pens, minus it’s cartridge. The best way was to let somebody (classmate) keep them for me until the opportunity offered itself for me to safely indulge. Harry often followed me along the corridor to see if I would be up to no good. As I was always quick eyed I would notice him but I could never work out if he wanted me to see him or not, maybe it was a form of psychology. On one occasion I went to the lav and once inside I turned around and leant against the wall. He sneaked (snuck) in and when he came around the corner I smiled and said, “Good morning Sir”, he scowled, twitched his nose, turned and went. On another occasion I thought he was trailing me again. I chanced a second glance and just saw him disappearing into the staff room much to my relief. A few minutes later I was in the bogs sharing a cigarette with my summers hols pal Trevor Davies when Mr. Lines came in and caught us red handed. The sod had tricked me! We both got two strokes of the cane for this and worst still, Trevor had his smokes confiscated. I remember one dinner time Trevor, Paul White and me were having a smoke on the playing fields well away from the school building. During the next lesson Lines came into the classroom and beckoned Paul and myself to follow him. When we arrived at his office an edgy looking Trevor Davies was already waiting outside. We were given a stern talking to and received a thorough caning. At afternoon playtime in the yard I sought out Trevor and explained to him that because the court case and now being caught and caned twice for smoking, it would be best if we kept away from each other for a while (I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was bringing me bad luck). He momentarily looked hurt but he did nod his agreement. We still remained friends……Distant friends.

Anybody from Hackenthorpe? Hackenthorpe and Zakes Part 18. Another installment. 1. It has been relayed to me on another thread, “Nah then folks, during the 60’s”, that Stuart White died in December 2011. Thanks for letting me know LEXIKIA. Stuart and I became pally in the early 60’s when he came up from Rainbow to play togger with us most weekends. I think he was a year older than me and he used to knock about with Paul Norton, Alan Burke, David Payne etc. SLEEP PEACEFULLY DEAR FRIEND. 2. I remember the name Miss Hardwick. Who was she? – school. 3. Trevor West was the elder brother of one of my school pals Nigel West, and they lived at 45 Cotleigh Avenue. Trevor once climbed up a pylon to attach a swing rope (rope swing) but ended up haif burning himsen to a frazzle, then he fell to the ground. Does anyone remember when that was? 4. Danny Spokes was one of my pals of the term at Birley Spa Junior School. Danny was a good hearted lad, but I often got him worked up when I repeatedly recited a ditty to him:- Dan Dan the dirty old man Kissed a girl and away he ran He combed her hair With a three legged chair Dan Dan the dirty old man. 5. Bird nesting or birds egg collecting was one of my hobbies. I will write at a later date more in depth about it, but one thing though… One day a lad climbed up the massive slag heap behind Rainbow Avenue trying to get to a Sparrowhawk nest. The story goes he put his hand into the hole but the ‘mother was on’ (female bird sat on the nest). The result was the lad’s hand got a severe pecking making him slide all the way down the shaly slag heap, landing with a bang injuring himself quite badly. Who was he? It was the talk of the estate at the time, 1963-64 ish. 6. I never had a diary because if I had done wrong the information inside could and would have been used against me. It was never my intention in life to help people like (Walt) Disney and (Albert) Spears! Lol. 7. Who was Miss Cadman? – school.

Anybody from Hackenthorpe? Hackenthorpe and Zakes Part 20. (1). Ref. post 41 (you got the right bus nr. Mate) by Scout. on this thread. God Almighty! How did cousin Lynne manage to reach schooling age with her parents having a surname like that?!! Lol. (2). Ref. post 86 by Tazz 070299. on this thread. There was a family on the estatein the early 60’s called Pigott(pie-got). Perhaps you meant them. Sorry I don’t know the address, but there was definitely a family called Pigott. There was a lad called Keith Pigott I think, in his early 60’s nah. (3). I enjoyed scrimping in the orchard behind and to the side of the Village School. Looking at the school and the area directly around it I often imagined it to be populated with dwarfs (dwaves),elfinic elfs and gobblin’ goblins, it was like fairyland. It was easy for me to visualize in an envisaging way, to envision these spiritely creatures to be happily passing the time of day in the rich undergrowth and the holly and hawthorn hedges. If and when the sunny sun gave way to the rainy rain, I would imagine the fairyland residents seeking refuge underneath gaudily coloured mushrooms with white dots on top. There would also be the occasional tawdry toadstool where frogs could sit atop. I never raided this orchard by daylight because it didn’t offer enough cover for scrompers, plus it would have been extremely rude to disturb the peaceful peace of the picture book setting. The trees in the orchard offered redder than red sweet tasting apples, and it was a bonus that the trees were very small, almost bonsai like, meaning they didn’t have to be climbed by leg or by ladder. The trees if one recalls were planted in long straight rows like the trees are in Belgium. I once had a full set of Belgium stamps and each had a different price and a different colour. Unfortunately they all had the same picture of a man’s head, and he wore Cliff Michelmore type specs. If I would have been sent for my education to this small scenic school I would have not objected. However, because of my mischievous ways I would surely have been punished in a physical way. There was no way I would have allowed a woman teacher to thrash me. If I did, I would have felt like a reight Burke.

Anybody from Hackenthorpe? Hackenthorpe and Zakes Part 17. Hey up Le Baron, 1. As you are a little older than my good self do you remember anything about a shed situated at the top end of the big shopping parade on Birley Spa Lane? Apparently the shed was owned by Harry Elam the newsagent and I once was told that some older lads than me had tunneled undernea®th it to relieve it of the stock inside. I also heard some other bigger boys than me had often tried with flex and long sticks pushed through the letterbox flaps of the shops to reach spice, fags and other goodies. It was said they’d had an element of success with this ploy. Would the Woodhouse police have any powers in those days at Hackenthorpe, C.I.D. etc? 2. One of my pals at school in the 60’s was called Kenny Glossop who may be related to you. Kenny lived on Carter Lodge Avenue at the second or third house on the right after comng directly off Birley Spa Lane. It was on the same row as Gary (gussy green teeth) Wilson and the Mallinson family lived. I think the Glossops had a short haired beigh coloured dog called Rex, but not reight sure. Kenny and me had decided to collect stamps after I’d acquired a packet full one day. I can’t remember where I gorrit frum, possibly Elams(?). I recall there were some big colourful flashy ones from Polska and Magyar and a pair of Hitler heads but they were’nt worth owt though. We soon packed it in because it was costing lots of dosh…comic dosh! I remember Gary Wilson’s mum giving me a tanner when I showed her my brand new Whitsun Tide tweed suit (short legs) and shoes that me mum had got me from Blanchards in town. Whitsun always seemed to make me rich going round the Carter Lodge’s each year.. Thanks Baz. Zakes. ---------- Post added 04-12-2012 at 06:11 ---------- Anybody from Hackenthorpe? Hackenthorpe and Zakes Part 19. (A). I nipped down Carter Lodge Rise as the day was about to lay down it’s weary head. It was the dusky part of twilight as I crossed the side, then the back parts of the unkempt garden of the first house, that belonged to the Guy family on Carter Lodge Drive. I easily stepped over the single wire fence to be then stood in the garden of the Hodgson family who lived in this second house. The curtains were drawn closed but I could see through the impersonation blue velvet gardinen that the living room light was awake. I stepped closer to the window and gave it three sharp raps with the knuckle of the middle finger of my right hand. I could hear me heart pounding like a big bass drum as I gleefully disappeared through the door of nr. 6, the third house along where the Zakes clan was lodged. Next evening, long before the twilight hour, I was walking up our path when I heard somebody was gardening because I could here a metal trowel avidly cutting into fertile soil. I glanced around the back of our house and saw nothing. Glimpsing toward the Hodgson gaden I saw crouched Mr Hodgson planting plants. We greeted each other then he beckoned me over to show me the new plants he had acquired that very day. Mr Hodgson kindly showed me each individual plant and explained which colour bloom each would have when they blooming bloomed. He suddenly grabbed my left ankle then lifted it up six inches or so, then slowly but firmly lowered my foot down exactly into the footmark I had clumsily made the previous evening. A perfect fit. With a smile upon his face but with steely eyes Mr Hodgson softly uttered:- “If you knock on my window again at night, I’ll tell thi’ mother.” I gave a deep repentful look and spoke a sincere, “Sorry Mr Hodgson.” The thought of getting a thick ear off me mum had forced me to apologise. I was 9 years old. (B). Recalled are the times when I along with pals of the weekend would be playing in the cornfields before the corn was harvested during ernting. We would often play a game using lengths of corn. Each lad would pull out of the field about 20 long pieces of corn, fold them in half then improvisingly tether them together using corn, grass or and shepherd’s purse, both ends and the middle. When each of us had tethered their own corn lengths we would start to play fight using the lengths of corn as weapons. Sometimes these games got out of hand because one or two of us might overdo the thra(e)shing bit. When this happened the lashing out could be very painful, making it into a 1066 job…… THE BATTLE OF HAY STINGS! ---------- Post added 04-12-2012 at 06:33 ---------- Anybody from Hackenthorpe? Hackenthorpe and Zakes Part 19. (A). I nipped down Carter Lodge Rise as the day was about to lay down it’s weary head. It was the dusky part of twilight as I crossed the side, then the back parts of the unkempt garden of the first house, that belonged to the Guy family on Carter Lodge Drive. I easily stepped over the single wire fence to be then stood in the garden of the Hodgson family who lived in this secong house. The curtains were drawn closed but I could see through the impersonation blue velvet gardinen that the living room light was awake. I stepped closer to the window and gave it three sharp raps with the knuckle of the middle finger of my right hand. I could hear me heart pounding like a big bass drum as I gleefully disappeared through the door of nr. 6, the third house along where the Zakes clan was lodged. Next evening, long before the twilight hour, I was walking up our path when I heard somebody was gardening because I could here a metal trowel avidly cutting into fertile soil. I glanced around the back of our house and saw nothing. Glimpsing toward the Hodgson gaden I saw crouched Mr Hodgson planting plants. We greeted each other then he beckoned me over to show me the new plants he had acquired that very day. Mr Hodgson kindly showed me each individual plant and explained which colour bloom each would have when they blooming bloomed. He suddenly grabbed my left ankle then lifted it up six inches or so, then slowly but firmly lowered my foot down exactly into the footmark I had clumsily made the previous evening. A perfect fit. With a smile upon his face but with steely eyes Mr Hodgson softly uttered:- “If you knock on my window again at night, I’ll tell thi’ mother.” I gave a deep repentful look and spoke a sincere, “Sorry Mr Hodgson.” The thought of getting a thick ear off me mum had forced me to apologise. I was 9 years old. (B). Recalled are the times when I along with pals of the weekend would be playing in the cornfields before the corn was harvested during ernting. We would often play a game using lengths of corn. Each lad would pull out of the field about 20 long pieces of corn, fold them in half then improvisingly tether them together using corn, grass or and shepherd’s purse, both ends and the middle. When each of us had tethered their own corn lengths we would start to play fight using the lengths of corn as weapons. Sometimes these games got out of hand because one or two of us might overdo the thra(e)shing bit. When this happened the lashing out could be very painful, making it into a 1066 job…… THE BATTLE OF HAY STINGS!

Ken, eddie = kennedy.

Anybody from Hackenthorpe? Hackenthorpe and Zakes Part 16. Nah then Lostrider, I would be very grateful if you could put down your paintbrush for a few moments to give this post some attention. Lol. 1. Ref Post 218. You posted an excellent photo of a Carter Lodge leavers group from 1968 and it would be really good if you could please put the names to the faces, L-R etc. I instantly recognized Gary Fordham (Carter Lodge Rise) in the middle with his hands in front trying to get as much as himself on the pic as he could. It’s also the first time I’ve seen him without a smile upon his face. Lol. The lad second right looks like Paul Driver. Who are the nosey sods in the background pretending not to look out of the windows? I recognize 10 of the 19 faces on the photo which is quite surprising because the Zakes clan moved to Carter Lodge Drive in late 1959 when I was 5 years old and we moved away to Newstead in late 1965 and I went to Birley County School, just under 3 years before the photo was taken. I had been at Carter Lodge School for approx half of the first year having deliberately failed the 11 plus exam at Birley Spa Juniors. The reason for this is because I wanted at senior school to play football not rugby, and I most certainly didn’t want to be seen wearing a puffy green blazer that pupils wore at Thornbridge Grammar School. That’s my story and I’m sticking by it. Prior to all this I attended Rainbow Forge Infants… Goldfish pond and lotus leaves etc. This means I saw the faces that later appear on the photo for the last time in late 1965 at the latest when I was in my eleventh year. Being a year younger than yourselves means I can only know them faces from the times I marauded around the estate between the ages of 5 and 11 evenings, weekends and holidaze because I didn’t mix with you at school. The only mix I had at school was the mixed punishments I got from Crofty (cane), Rodgers (cane), Kirk (leg slappings), Noddy Fretwell (knuckle back of head and ruler across knuckles). I roved the estate either solo, duo or trio and never in gangs. 2. ‘Kids on Delves Avenue’. One of them was Mick Eyre. Was he related to Tommy Eyre the boardkeys wizard who played with Joe Cocker and many other famous musicians? I liked how the corporation estates had those ‘islands’ in those days giving us young ‘uns space to adventure. It was also pleasing for mischievous me that they seemed to plant fruit trees and fruit bushes in practically every garden, so it seemed. All the best to you Lostrider. Zakes.

Blitzkrieg. Hey up Blue Bunny, (A). As you have mentioned the names of your three brothers (post 133) I deduce you must be Christopher the second youngest, with Martin (nice lad) being the youngest. I feel it only right that I deeply apologise to the Hatfield clan for dragging young Martin down to the low level of larceny for which we were severely punished at the time. The 1967 heist planned by me was perfection and I still pat myself on the back over 45 years later. We left no damage or evidence and it was sheer bad luck that a cleaner happened to come out of the lasses lavs just as we were almost out of the final door to escape. Regardless, I can assume you and I had a bloody good feast that evening in my bedroom, making it all worthwhile apart from the bit when I got expelled. I say young Martin because I was older than him and he was younger than me. I was born March 30 (same day as lardy Paul Overhand) and Martin early June(?). I don’t remember all the exact dates of birthdays, but some I do recall. It dunt matter really because none of the wretched wretches invited me to their party’s, perhaps on parents instructions! B.T.W. – Pal 1 on the heist operation was Paul White (a late stand in for Paul Ward who had decided to go rabbit snaring at Birley woods instead) who was my second best pal of the year and fellow mischief maker at the time, after Ralph Smalley who also lived near me on Newstead Rise. Ralph was a livewire of a lad, who had zillions of ideas, and we had some reight laughs in the time I knew him. (B) Durin’t summer of 1966 I palled up with a lad from your year who became my pal of the holiday. My dad had warned me to keep away from him ‘because he was trouble’. Being a defiant little sod I didn’t heed dad’s words and became quite inseparable from this lad from your year for the next few weeks. On one of those hot days during the fifth week I, along with this new pal and 2 other pals of the summer, became bored and decided to pay the sleeping Thornbridge school a visit. We never did like Thornbridge School which we thought was full of puffs. We also didn’t like the gozz, snot and wet bogey coloured blazers they wore either and decided something had to be done about it. We arrived at the lay by on Birley Lane and picked up loads of stones and other throwable items but were very careful not to pick up the used johnny’s from the activities of grown ups from the previous evening(s), then we entered the grounds of Thornbridge fully laden. Standing within 10 yards of the school we four opened fire and fairly peppered them windows. It was like the Blitzkrieg re-enacted, the power and energy we put into it, and the wonderful feeling of elation was absolutely mind blowing. It was a feeling I knew so well because I had had it many times in the past, as many greenhouse owners in Hackenthorpe, Frecheville and Birley could , should and maybe would substantiate. We must of done at least 58 windows. Being a hot day the people who lived in the area (top end of Thornbridge Avenue and the rear of the even numbered houses at the Birley Lane end of Thornbridge Road) would have had their windows open which meant they would of heard the sound of crashing glass at the nearby school. This includes the Hatfields, Otters, Needhams, Ibbotsons, Cuneos, MacGowans, Townsends, Clarksons, Houseleys, Liddells, and possibly the Stephensons, and all these families had children who went to Birley School. Needless to say one of the other pal’s got recognized and it wasn’t long before the rozzers rounded us up. It became a court case and we four had to attend Renishaw Court (in 1966 we were still under Derbyshire rule) and were found guilty of the charge of willful damage. We were fined and told to behave ourselves in future. I was the youngest at 12. The pal of the six weeks holiday lived on Newstead Drive and was called Trevor Davies. Know him? ©. You also mentioned names of other pupils you remembered. I knew Stewart May, he lived on Thornbridge Place or Close, Keith Fowler dwelt on Thornbridge Crescent haif way up, and I know the other names apart from John Bell and Phillip Brown……. their bad luck. I think Robert Page was the lad with a mass of untidy dark hair and he spoke very fast, in a manic way. Did you know Steve Kaye, Gary Bottomley, Neil Brown, Diane Cutts, Harry Hatt (Pin), Susan Cocker, Rosie Staniland, Pat Dodworth (she may have had a slight skin disorder?), and can you fix me up with a date with Kathryn Ibbotson who lived a couple of doors away from you? Lol. (D). From all the people I remember at Birley there were 4 I recall who used their middle name instead of their original Christian name. This was not as rare as one might think. The ones I knew who did this were:- Kathryn Ibbotson – Elizabeth Anne Hayes – Margaret Adele Stephenson – Julia Harry Hatt – James. There were more but I can’t remember everybody. I wish I could. (E) Did you now Hotpot? What was his real name? (F) Which house team were you in? I was in Trojan. (G) Finally. Can anyone confirm that Mr Lines lived in Ridgeway where he died over 20 years ago, and is buried there. I am an unforgiving type who has had dancing lessons! Cheers Chris. Zakes. It must be pointed out my stuff is copyright controlled!

Hillsborough shops 35 years ago – and earlier. HELP! When the Zakes phratry lived for a few months in early 1959 with relatives on Wood Street, I went with me mum on two occasions to the doctor due to problems I had with me aglets. I took me mum with me because I was only 5 years old and didn’t want to leave her on her own. We walked to the doctor’s because we were so poor we couldn’t afford the tram fare. The doctor’s was situated on Langsett Rooad atween the Queens Ground pub and Hillsborough Baths, on the same side more or less opposite Burdalls. The doctor’s house had a black painted door with glass paneling with designs and the brass doorknob was agleam. Inside there was a strong smell of floor and wood polish, and the dark brown wooden staircase banister was shining as was the floor. Does anyone know the name of the doctor’s surgery? I need to know as this has caused me many sleepless nights for a fair few years now, and I need to get some sleeping pills. Perhaps that nice man Hillsbro can HELP!

Old Harrow, White Lane, early 70’s Part 1. In the early to mid 70’s I used to do a fair bit of drinking in the Old Harrow (Arra) pub. The ‘Arra’ was a Whitbread boozery and I used to drink Trophy which I liked even though it certainly wasn’t the best beer to be gotten in those days. At times I would drink Tankard for a change but it tasted somewhat bostic like, it was also a penny dearer than Trophy. Toby Brown Ale was another drink I had from time to time but the landlord Jim Finch told me I wouldn’t drink it if I knew what was in it. I decided not to drink Brown Ale after that. Lol. Although the Arra was only twenty minutes walk from my home in Crossland Drive, it wasn’t the nearest pub. Nearer to my home were:- Red Lion Cutlers Heeley and Sheffield House Carlton Club Centre Spot Hollin Bush (short cut through Base Green) New Inn. A fraction further away than the Arra were:- Noah’s Ark Royal Oak Punch Bowl. Anyway, my preferred pub was the Arra which I visited mainly Thurs, Fri, Sat and Sunday neets and sometimes Sunday dinner 12 whilst 2. When I first started going in the Arra it had three rooms, tap, lounge and concert rooms. It also had a little off sales counter for spice, fags and such(?). I alternated atween the Arra and Town every other week because I felt the need to keep in touch with my boozing pals in Town, after all Town was also where the charver was. I also from time to time visited the Centre Spot, New Inn and Hollin Bush to keep in touch with other mates who supped in those joints. Some people I remember from the Old Harrow:- Keith Wilcock (Benj) Bill Welburn (Big Bill) Paul Hyde Ashey Roberts Alan Woodward (No, nOt him) Little Frank Anton (Deaf and Dumb) Mick Schwarz Eric Schwarz Pete Harrison Tommy Worrall (miner) Richard Burnell Gary Turton Rodney Hill Philip (Fred) Pickering Steve Faulkner (utd player) Andrew Biddlestone (Biggs) John Smith and his dad who was also a reddler had won the annual Arra nobbly knees contest on several occasions (just thought I’d let you know. Lol.). Tony, who was a puff with big ears who always had an umbrella with him, perhaps to defend himself. Tony had followed the landlord and landlady Jim and Pat Finch who had come from the Barley Corn pub in town. I had (have) in the past noticed when landlords move to another pub, some customers tend to follow them and become redlars there. Or alternatively customers from the old pub go to visit the management in their new pub. Weird. Apologies to the loads of other persons I’ve forgotten for the moment. In those days the Old Harrow was abuzz and a hive of activity with a very friendly atmosphere and it seemed that almost everyone knew each other. I have a boat load of anecdotes to tell connected with me and the Arra and some of the names mentioned above. I’ll relate some of these over the next few months rather than in a full story today. I don’t wish to stress my secretary who types all my stuff on S.F. English is not her first language, which invites you to blame her if the commas aren’t in the right places. Huh!

Div Gorrim! Peering through the window with serious eyes, the 9 years old Zakes was watching the heavily falling rain coming down like stiff stair rods in the outside darkness. He pressed his nose against the glass pane of the metal framed single glazed window. He felt the cold damp against his flattened organ of smell because he had to get this close or he would have only seen a mirrored reflection of himself. Under normal circumstances Zakes wouldn’t have minded the reflection because he had always been an admirer of natural beauty. Today was a different situation because he was impatiently waiting for his tardy dad (Dad Zakes) to arrive home from his place of work at Tungsten Carbide. The year was 1963 and it was early Friday evening and including today it was 10 days until December. Zakes always enjoyed Friday’s because it was the start of the weekend which meant 2 days of adventuring here on the Hackenthorpe estate and the areas surrounding. Friday’s were also good because it meant the Australian childrens' programmes followed by CrackerJack were on telly, and also a delicious bacon, sausage, egg and tomato fry up for tea. The Zakes’ being a non-religious family always ate their fish on Tuesday’s instead of Fridays to celebrate the birth of their youngest son who was born on a Tuesday 9 years ago. Zakes was now praying his dad would win the race, the race against the torpid looking mobile shop that came on Friday’s and sold groceries and spice but not telephones. The winner of the race would be the first one to reach 6, Carter Lodge Drive, where Zakes’ lived. It was imperative Dad Zakes won the race because Zakes was in need of his 2 bob weekly spending money to splash out at the shop on wheels when it arrived. The rainy teardrops were still playing patterns upon the window pane and all Zakes had seen so far was a pair of speedily bats flying by. The bats had taken Zakes by surprise making it impossible for him to ascertain whether they were made from Willow, Ash or Balsa. Moments later the excited Zakes espied the thin dark shadow of Dad Zakes dashing up the pathway, hunched forward in a vain attempt to dodge the unmerciful wet stair rods. Zakes’ gleeful galumphing lasted only a few moments because, just as the key was sounding in the lock of the house door the glancing and dancing headlights of the battered, bulky mobile shop drew nearer as it came stutteringly up Carter Lodge Drive, putting Zakes into a pantiferous panic. Could he possibly get his spendo off his dad before the sharra shop served it’s last customer and drove off, Zakes wondered. Out of the dark wet Dad Zakes appeared, and he stood in the hallway looking saturated to the skin. His light brown overcoat looked darker than it usually was, his size 9 wellies were shining and the brylcremed wave upon his head was surprisingly still intact and also ashine. With a steady flow of water drops dripping from his conk he loudly exclaimed like a harbinger of doom to his wife (Mum Zakes), “Div gorrim! Div gorrim! Div shot Kennedy!” Mum Zakes showed sudden shock upon her fastidious ferret face, and loudly called out as if to God in disgrace, “On no! When? Where? How? Who? And why?” During the uproarious hullabaloo Zakes was constantly tugging the left cuff of his Dad’s wet overcoat sleeve demandingly pleading for his pocket money. He had set his heart on a bag of spice from the mobile shop, and was now becoming frantic with fear that the bus would be soon gone. Just when it seemed all would be lost his dad pressed a dull looking Florin into his son’s soft palm. Within seconds, Zakes who was dressed in grey jumper, grey shorts and grey coloured Policeman Badger slippers, had slipped out of the door. The grocer had already set the bus into gear and was ready for leaving. On seeing Zakes the growling engine was switched off. Inside the motorized shop Zakes could smell the soil still on the grocer’s vegetables. It was almost the exact same smell as the left armpit of one of his girlfriends at Birley Spa Juniors, a wonderful down to earth aromatic aroma. On being asked if he wanted his usual order Zakes nodded his head which covered the counter with raindrops. The grocer then proceeded to fill a small white paper bag with Rainbow Drops, then he proceeded to fill another small white paper bag with Fruit Salad, Blackjacks, a Fudgy Fudge bar and a Gob Stopper. He generously gave Zakes 1/9 change because the boy was a redler customer. Having stepped from the seatless charabanc shop back into the pouring rain, Zakes turned around to face the grocer and asked him, “Do you know of a man called Ken, Eddie?” The grocer looked to the ceiling to have a quick think, then shook his head. “Well not to worry, div shot him anyway”, said Zakes.

A Typical Day in the Life of a 12 year old boy in 1966. Part 5 of 5. Marianne and Mick had disappeared into the house of Marianne’s long lost relative giving Zakes nothing more to gawp at. Having given the now sleeping Cadillac a sharp kick Zakes moved on his way and came to the junction of Newstead Road and Newstead Place. On Newstead Place lived a married couple who were foreigners. Some weeks ago Zakes had overheard a conversation between his dad and mum, talking about a married couple from Bulgaria in Eastern Europe who had arrived as refugees in England. The married couple had been given a house to live in in Newstead Place and they were called Mr. and Mrs Havitov. The Havitov’s had a 19 year old daughter called Sophia and she had found a job and earned her dough working in a bakery making bread. The Havitov’s had only been at Newstead five months, and before they had even got their feet under the table they had started to have wife swapping parties on a once monthly basis every other week. Overhearing the conversation further, Zakes heard his dad say that nice music was played at the parties, including stuff from the Swinging Blue Jeans, Bing Crosby’s Swinging on a stat, and tracks from George Gershwin’s musical Orgy and Bess. With his ears flapping like an elephant’s Zakes was enjoying what he was earwigging until he heard his dad mention some of then names of guests to these parties. It was with surprise and great shock when he heard the names, William Williamson and his wife Wilma, John Johnson and his wife Joan, Robert Robson and his wife Roberta, and Jack Jackson and his wife Jacky. Each one of these couples had a son, and all the sons were big mates with Zakes , in fact some of them had been at one time or another Zakes’ pals of the weekend. It suddenly occurred to the deviously smiling Zakes, that it would be a good idea if his parents also went to one of the Havitov’s wife swapping parties, then his dad could swap his wife for a big Bang Olufsen television and a pair of brand new Ron Flowers football boots, with a tin of dubbin to boot, for his favourite son Zakes! Walking further down Newstead Road Zakes came to the junction this road met Newstead Rise. Whilst walking up the Rise Zakes observed no activity, because there was no activity to be seen. A little further up the Rise Zakes looked left to the gardens and saw Mr Harold Haroldson mowing his green lawn. This got Zakes to thinking about the time two years ago when he lived on Carter Lodge Drive at Hackneyed Hackenthorpe. It had been that time of year when the hackberry trees were out in full bloom, and Zakes had been out and about with his pal of the fortnight Hackleberry Finn who was a lad from Scandanavia originally. Whilst out walking Hackle and Zakes had noticed in a garden a rusty red coloured lawn mowing grass cutter all on it’s own looking quite lonely. They both scaled the two foot high pineapple pink fence and proceeded to nick the lawn mower, but they got grassed up by a neighbour who was hacked off by their larcenous behaviour. Whilst conversing with Mr Haroldson the ever perceptive Zakes noted the man before him had a toothbrush moustache suiting his oblong face, his brow was high and narrow, the eyes small and dark, the chin a warning to anyman having an ounce of experience. Zakes gleaned the impression Mr Haroldson was somewhat puddle and inbred and should really be put in a padded cell in a state puzzle factory. Zakes liked to take risks and decided to ask Mr Haroldson if he fancied playing togger at the garages over the road. Mr Haroldson declined by offering the excuse that he’d had an accident with his lawn mower last summer, and had lost the eight toes on his right foot. Zakes accepted Mr Haroldson’s decision and turned to go but caught sight in the garden next to Mr Haroldson’s a brand new plastic case ball with an emblem of World Cup Willie upon it. Zakes’ immediate thought was to come back during the evening when it was dark, after he had finished his car painting. Moments later Zakes was stood at the start of the pathway below the pathway where he lived. He decided to throw care to the strong breeze and marched to number 21 which was the third house on the right, where Janet Ellis lived. Feeling as bold as a brassy brass brassiere from Brasilia Zakes gave the front door three sharp short toe ended kicks. Fifty eight long seconds later which seemed like a minute the door was yanked open. In the doorway stood Janet’s elder sister. This sister who cannot be named for reasons of legality had almost shoulder length hair the colour of a black beetle upon a black curtain. Her lips were a lighter shade of danger red and when she smiled she revealed a perfect set of bright white tombstone sized teeth. To add contrast to this beauty she was in possession of blotchy skin. She was attired in fluffy dandelion blue slippers and a white micro mini dress with a floral design of sobbing willow trees and purple spaceships. On seeing her dress, Zakes’ first thought was , ‘if her dress would have been any higher, she would have had to wash behind her ears’. Having screwed his eyes back into their sockets and having eventually got his breath back, Zakes asked the Twiggy like sister if Janet was coming out to play. Zakes was very disappointed to discover that Janet wasn’t at home because she was out. Zakes pressed his lips together in an expression of satisfaction having found the 13 gallon drum of ink black paint and brushes in the Zakes’ garden shed. Feeling tired from the adventures of the day, Zakes went to his bedroom to have a lie down ‘til the night came. Having set his Rodger the Dodger alarm clock he unpeeled his eyes. Within moments Zakes was asnore and slipped into a deep dream about Janets elder sister, who had reminded him so much of his cousin Daphne who worked on a turkey farm some miles away. 15 Songs. Rolling Stones – 7. Play with fire – 1965 Paint it black – 1966 The Last Time – 1965 (I can’t get no) Satisfaction – 1965 19th Nervous Breakdown – 1966 I Wanna Be Your Man – 1963 Little Red Ro(o)ster – 1964 Marianne Faithful – 8. Counting – 1966 Summer nights – 1965 This Little Bird – 1965 Blowin’ in the wind – 1964 As Tears Go By – 1964 Come and Stay with me – 1965 Yesterday – 1965 Is this what I get for loving you? – 1966 The Stones also covered As Tears Go By in 1966/ B-side to 19th Nervous……

More to hand. http://www.flickr.com/photos/67091376@N07/

A Typical Day in the Life of a 12 year old boy in 1966. Part 4 of 5. As it was only mid afternoon Zakes had no desire to return home just yet. He decided to hang about a bit here on Newstead Road because before long something would happen, something always happened if one was patient enough. Zakes had the inherent gift of perseverance, and it had once been said he was crossed with a lurcher because he never gave up. According to the tilt of the gleaming hot sun upon his left ear lobe Zakes precisely gauged he had been waiting a mere seven minutes before the action began. Coming up the road Zakes could see the wide windscreen and the winged panels of a sandpaper coloured Cadillac car gliding in his direction. The perspicacious Zakes who didn’t like to use big words as opposed to Leonard Sachs, observed the car come to halt with a jolt at the causey edge where Newstead Road met Newstead Grove. The two occupants of the long car stepped out and were soon stood on the macadamized footpath stretching their legs. The man was wearing a low crowned hat of blue straw, the lady was also wearing a hat but it was high crowned and was made of pink straw. These two persons were dressed in modern garb making them look like a pair of hip beatniks of the hippy type. The lady’s outstanding features were here long shiny blonde hair and her tight bottom, reminding Zakes of the Felchem sisters he had seen earlier in the day. The man only had one outstanding feature and that was his set of thick wobbly puppet lips. Zakes guessed in an estimating way the age of the man to be 23 winters, and the lady 20 summers. Zakes knew this pair of persons had come up from London to visit this lady’s now found long lost relative who lived here on Newstead Grove. They had also been in Eckington earlier to visit the man’s grandmother who lived there. They’d done this same journey some 6 months ago when the weather hadn’t been as good as it is now. On that occasion Zakes had wanted to know who the hell these two were, and his only option was to approach Eric Ericson. Eric was an insider who got inside information from the inside, in fact Eric was inside everywhere including inside all newspapers and inside all company boardrooms. The only place where Eric wasn’t inside was his wife Erica, they had had an argument of mega proportions 27 years ago and the wounds had never healed, and Eric still bore the scars. Anyway, according to insider Eric the two behatted Cadillac people were from the music trade and they specialized in rock music. The man was called Mick, and the bird was called Marianne and they were becoming very famous. Eric went on to tell Zakes about Mick helping Marianne with her penchant for Mars bars and Picnic chocolate bars with the bumpy lumpy bits sticking out. Zakes wanted to know more detail about Mick and the sweet toothed Marianne, and Eric relented, then continued with the inside information he knew. Mick was a singer in a rock group and they became famous and sold many records which made them very rich. They had so much money they started to believe they were untouchable and they began to drink lots of alcohol and take drugs as well. By doing this they were always drunk and were continually rolling about. The drug taking had it’s effect on them, making them stoned all the time giving their eyes a glazed look. Marianne was a singer of gentle songs, and it all seemed like yesterday that this little bird was walking in the park with her beautiful blonde hair blowin’ in the wind, and counting on the promise she had received as regards to a recording contract. Eric went on to tell the enthralled 12 year old Zakes about how Mick and Marianne had met for the first and not the last time. It had been one of those balmy summer nights when they had gone walking in the countryside. Marianne had been so impressed with Mick she asked him to, “Come and stay with me.” Mick’s response was to say, “I wanna be your man.” This made Marianne cautiously happy, but she knew about Mick’s drink and drug binging, and she also knew to be careful because she didn’t want to play with fire and get her fingers burnt. To celebrate, Marianne opened her best Liberian lizard leather handbag and took out a four fingered KitKat chocolate bar making Mick’s eyes light up. During their romantic relationship Marianne was ever faithful to Mick, but Mick played the field and was often untrue to Marianne. Mick was admired by many women who wanted to go to bed with him, but not necessarily to sleep. He was given lots of phone numbers and addresses from these women which he kept in a little red roster in his inside pocket. One day Marianne found the little red roster by accident when she was rifling through Mick’s pockets in search of a much needed Flake chocolate bar. She then and there decided to challenge Mick about the little red roster. When Mick got home Marianne gave Mick the third degree about the list of birds addresses in his little red roster. Mick looked dumbfounded then said, “it’s because with you I can’t get no satisfaction.” To which Marianne loudly said “Is that what I get for loving you?” Marianne started roorin’ and ran to the bathroom to get away from wobble gob Mick. Looking in the mirror Marianne looked red eyed at her smeared makeup then watched with interest as tears go by. The argument he’d had with Marianne on top of all the endless sex sessions he’d had with women fans drove Mick over the edge, and he had a nervous breakdown and not for the first time, in fact including this one he’d now had one more breakdown than a golf course has holes. They later made up. Zakes had kept Eric’s inside information in his head for those 6 months and because he’d seen Marianne’s beautiful blonde hair and also her tighter than tight tail piece he decided he would punish Mick during this visit for being such a naughty mester. Zakes would come back under the cloak of darkness with a big tin of paint and a big fat paint brush, then go to town on the sandpaper coloured Cadillac, and paint it black. To be continued…… (P.S. How many song titles folks?)

A Typical Day in the Life of a 12 year old boy in 1966. Part 3 of 5. Wending along Birley Moor Road in a meandering way Zakes decided to deviate his journey home. On entering Thornbridge Drive Zakes saw over the road a female Chinese chimney sweep who happened to be well stacked. Zakes didn’t really know this sooty lady apart from her name being Soo, and she was living over the brush with a man called Corbett who always wore gloves no matter what time of year it was. It was reported that Soo had another bloke on the go but he was known to be a slimey snake in the grass type, and he hailed from Ramsbottom in Lancashire. Zakes noted sooty Soo was sneezing and wheezing and decided not cross the road to say hello because he didn’t want to catch the flue. Continuing his trek up Thornbridge Drive Zakes’ heart skipped a beat because strolling down the path on his side was Molly Mutton. Good golly Miss Molly was a live wire of a lass and loved to go dancing at Frecheville Community Centre, her speciality being the Lambeth Walk. The open minded and open hearted Molly was from good stock and she never minced her words. She was very flirtatious and always attracted the attention of randy lads like Zakes, in the locality. Her father owned a chain of butchers shops in the Sheffield area and people would flock from all over the place to buy his lamb sausages and lamb pies. Zakes would have liked to have had a butchers at the butcher’s coquette of a daughter in the nuddy whilst eating one his croquettes with a spot of mustard. Molly introduced her new boyfriend who was looking quite sheepish, and holding on to Molly’s right hand for dear life. The boyfriend’s name was Robert Robertson who didn’t look beefy nor brawny. Zakes thought ‘You lucky sod, you’ve got more jam than Hartley’s.’ The outgoing Molly brought the conversation to an end by saying she and her fleecy boyfriend had to go or they would be late for their croquet lesson at Frecheville Sports Club. They said their goodbyes and moved on leaving Zakes to think when it would be his turn to go to Molly’s joint to give her a roasting. Zakes marched further on then took the next turning left which was Thornbridge Road. ‘Not another bleeding hill, chuffin’ ‘ell’, thought Zakes. Several hundred paces later Zakes took a left turn to arrive in Birley Moor Avenue. Sauntering down Birley Moor Avenue, Zakes was about to turn right into Birley Moor Way but changed his mind because he didn’t want to encounter the madcap Hot Pot, who abided on this road. A moment or four later Zakes saw two lads appear out of Thornbridge Way which was on the left. The two lads turned right and almost crashed into Zakes. Having recognized their old pal of the day from seventeen moons ago they both executed a dance of excited delight. After much chatty chattering Jamie Jamieson and Richard Richardson finally calmed down. Jamie happened to have three fags and a book of matches with him. With smiles upon their fresh faces the three boys were enjoying the taste of the Consulate cigarettes Jamie had pinched from his mums best Congolese crocodile leather handbag. Halfway down their ciggies Jamie piped up by saying:- “My dad can make smoke come out of his nostrils.” “That’s nothing, my dad can make smoke come out of his ears.” said Richard. “That’s also nothing, my dad packed up smoking yesterday and now has clean underpants.” said Zakes. Zakes then strolled off with head held high, with a self righteous smile across his kisser. Jamie and Richard stood looking at each other with knotted eyebrows, not understanding the meaning behind Zakes’ words. On reaching Birley Moor Crescent which was on the right Zakes couldn’t believe his eyes for the second time today. On the left hand grass verge directly outside the Frecheville pub sat three men cross legged playing cards. The three men were sat half facing each other in a medium sized triangular circle. On closer inspection Zakes noticed they had skin that had bumps and bubbles, scaly knoblike outgrowths and protuberances with inflamed nodules, in fact they looked bloody ugly. Being an expert on medical conditions Zakes realized these men were lepers who had possibly escaped from the leprosarium at Lodge Moor. Being an expert in escapology the houdinic Zakes soon worked out their route of escape. They had climbed onto the roof of the 51 bus at Lodge Moor terminus and by keeping their heads down they remained undetected. When the bus arrived at Gleadless Townend they arose from their prone positions and leapt from the double decker. The three men scampered to the public bogs opposite the Red Lion pub to discuss the next stage of their great escape. Five minutes later they made their egress from the lavs, then hitched a lift on the first combine harvester to appear on White Lane to fool the authorities who were by now searching low and high for them. To fool the authorities further they sprung from the combine harvester on Birley Lane and walked the 100 yards or so to be where they were now sat. Being an expert on card playing Zakes intently watched these bubble skinned lepers trying to outtrick each other. It soon dawned on Zakes that lepers were people who were normally ignored and or despised, so why the ruddy hell was he giving them attention. One of the lepers was becoming irate because he kept being dealt bad cards. He got so frustrated he eventually threw in his hand. Well, Zakes had seen many a time in his life people take their gloves off, but never their hands, good grief! After recovering from his shock, Zakes called to the bad losing leper:- “Nah then thee, the only way to improve at cards is to keep your hand in, Mister!” Having trotted down the hill Zakes arrived at Newstead Road. At the grassy green grass verge Zakes placed on the ground the medium sized hessian sack nicely folded minus it’s contents. To be continued…

A Typical Day in the Life of a 12 Year Old Boy in 1966. Part 2 of 5. Further along Newstead Road Zakes came face to face with Mr Walter Whittaker who was a bricklayer by trade. Zakes would like to be in a similar trade when he was a grown up, but it wouldn’t be bricks he’d be laying. Mr Whittaker was also a comedian in his spare time and had even once performed jokes at the Spa Club on Birley Moor Road. Rumour had it Mr Whittaker stole other people’s jokes to get his laughs, but he knew he couldn’t cutt the ice with Zakes who was too clever for him. He could clearly see that Zakes could clearly see right through him. Once a Whittaker, always a W(h)it-taker. At the junction of Newstead Road and Birley Moor Avenue Zakes found upon the grassy green grass verge a medium sized hessian sack full of smooth pebbles. After a few moments thought Zakes decided to bag the sack and take it to Frecheville pond and pass the time by skimming the pebbles across the surface of the water, playing ducks and drakes. Having called in at Rippons newsagents and bought a quarter of milk gums and three banana chews Zakes was back on Birley Moor Road heading toward Frecheville. A handful of minutes later Zakes arrived at Frecheville shopping centre minus milk gums and banana chews that had been masticated to death by the sweet toothed Zakes. Before turning into Heathfield Road Zakes paused because he was feeling quite queasy. He wasn’t sure if the spice he had bought from Rippons had given him a sugar shock or whether his breakfast duck egg had been off. Glancing diagonally over Birley Moor Road Zakes could hardly believe his eyes when he saw a zebra crossing away from the shops, then he saw a pelican crossing towards the shops. Zakes wondered if the belching beacon that stood like a soldier erect near to the crossing creatures had also witnessed the happy but strange happynings. Had the beacon also seen the tired kangaroo laid on the grass verge looking as if it was out of bounds, Zakes wondered. Shaking his head clear Zakes picked up his sack of pebbles and proceeded to climb up Heathfield Road. It was 10.58 as Zakes walked past the left side of Frecheville Community Centre where Stan and Betty Eyre worked. Stan and Betty had a daughter called Carol aged 3-4, and they all lived at nearby Brushfield Grove. With a very wide grin across his strawberry cherubic lips Zakes stood on the claypan like edged bank of Frecheville pond. With serious eyes Zakes scanned the sun kissed water of this magnificent lake, and took deep breaths into his lungs of the fresh sea air. Zakes momentarily knotted his eyebrows when he realized the two trawlers and a tug had disappeared since his last visit to this beauty spot. Zakes was having a marvellous time skimming his shiny smooth pebbles across the water, although the two bleached brunette ladies in the yellow and blue coloured speedboat were irate and were waving their white laced little fists at him. Having just launched his 58th pebble Zakes heard his name being called. He turned his head to the right and instantly recognized two lads from the locality who were friends of his. David Davidson and Steven Stevenson were both a year younger than Zakes who was a year older than them, and they had been in the recent past Zakes’ pals of the day. Some weeks ago the three of them had swiped a heavy crate of Guinness from behind the Spa Club and had made a bomb selling the bottles around Silkstone Crescent. Then there was the time when they had nicked a big box of fish from behind Scrivens fish shop on Birley Moor Crescent and became fishmongers for the day and made another bomb as most good fishmongers do. David happened to have three fags and a book of matched with him. With smiles upon their fresh faces the three boys were enjoying the taste of the Bristol cigarettes David had pinched from his mum’s best Botswanan blacksnake leather handbag. Halfway down their ciggies Steven piped up by saying:- “My dad can make smoke come out of his nostrils.” “That’s nothing, my dad can make smoke come out of his ears.” said David. “That’s also nothing, my dad can make smoke come out of his behind.” Said Zakes. “Really! How would you know that then Zakes?” asked Steven and David unbelievingly in unison. Zakes paused for a few moments watching his friends wait with bated breath for the answer, then said, “I wetched me mum t’other day emptying the dirty laundry basket into the weshing machine and I saw the nicotine in me dad’s underpants.” “Eee! That’s disgusting Zakes”, said David and Steven in unison. “So is smoking.” responded Zakes. Zakes and his friends continued to skim pebbles across the water until the sack was empty and Frecheville pond was now half full with the smooth shiny stones. Zakes bade ta-ta to his mates and prepared himself for his return journey. Just passing the jennel on Birley Moor Road that leads to Smalldale Road Zakes came across the Felchem sisters, Fiona and Felicity. Zakes’ first thought was ‘Oh yes, sugar and spice and all things vice’. His second thought was , ‘I’d love to perform obscenities upon their gorgeous body’s’, but he didn’t think they would take too kindly to him swearing at their skin. These two Felchem sisters had beautiful long red hair, wide teethy smiles, full kissable lips and the pretest noses Zakes had ever seen. They were poetry in motion, perfection personified. The only snag was, they were both flat chested, and Zakes wondered if these two beauties who both possessed two backs each used elastoplast for bras, like Lesley Hornby did. Fiona and Felicity had had boyfriends before and these lads must have been suckers to have left them, but it was quite possible they were suckers when they were with them, who knows? Zakes couldn’t help but continually glance at these girls tight bottoms and knowing that fortune favours the bold he asked for a date to go bowling at CBC bowling alley near Intake. They declined in unison, but Zakes wasn’t too concerned because he knew there was other pebbles on the beach. To be continued.

Collecting Autographs 3. I decided to put Collecting Autographs on History and Expats instead of The Sheffield Football section because it’s my intention to later include cricketers and musicians. Whatever I write will be fact but it may be sketchy in some parts, so I will have to improvise because I can’t remember every single detail, especially dates. Anybody questioning the veracity of my stuff can take a running Lyn Davies Special. It was during 1968 when I started collecting autographs. A lad at school mentioned in conversation that he’d been collecting for about six months. He went on to say he had used an autograph book at first but went on to football mags and annuals. The magazines included Soccer Star (my fave of all time), Football Monthly, then later came Goal and Jimmy Hill’s Football Weekly followed by Shoot. The annuals were Charles Buchan and the ever popular Topical Times which unfortunately came out some weeks after the season had started. I say unfortunately because there would be pics in the book to be signed, and the player(s) may have already played in the area during those few weeks when the book wasn’t available. I started by going to the two Sheffield football grounds on match days, and then went to watch United train at the Ball Inn near Arbourthorne? Olive Grove. This was easy to reach from where I lived at Gleadless Townend by buses 30/ 51. This happened during school holidays or occasionally ‘wagging’ it. It wasn’t long before I decided to get really into ‘Graphing’ as a serious hobby and soon discarded my school exercise book (for autographs) and started to get the magazines ‘one way or another’. Lol. BTW, the first four football people to impress me with their friendliness were Alan Hodgkinson, John Harris, Don Megson and Vic Mobley. 2 Utd, 2 Wed. Had to be careful there, didn’t I? Lol. Anyroad, the idea was to keep the annuals intact but the magazine pics were cut out and filed at home (in my case I used a suitcase under me bed). We’d study the fixtures for the coming weekend, then during the week get the appropriate pictures together and fix them into flat folders with detachable thin spines which we acquired from Andrews Stationers on Holly Street near’t City Hall. To mark the pages in the annuals we’d use wool as markers to find the right pages. This was done because if a footballer suddenly arrived on the scene he wouldn’t wait forever for you to find the page, it had to been done quickly. I will explain a little further every time I post about how we travelled around the North and Midlands by train without ever paying. I’ll also tell you how we never paid to get into a football match, and other tricks we got up to, including the big pile of railway platform tickets we each had. I will also tell you about the time when I took both mt airline (B.E.A. and B.O.A.C.) shoulder bags with me one Saturday in the winter of 69. The bags were rammed full with annuals and folders in preparation for the autographs of 7 teams on that day, in this order:- Notts Forest, Leicester, Millwall, Derby, West Brom, Orient and Newcastle. Instances will also be covered about rewards I received from football people for running errands. Also how Brian Clough made me feel like a very important lad one Saturday. Plus, plus, plus. 6. Tommy Docherty. One rainy week morning in the late 60’s two mates and I were at Millmoor, Rotherham United’s ground. Some of the players had already gone in but we did manage to collar a few others who willingly signed for us. It seemed like everybody had gone in which meant we would have to wait a couple of hours or so. This didn’t bother us because we had had lots of experience of long waiting in all weathers on many occasions. A car pulled up in the car park then stepped out Mr Tommy Docherty, ‘The Doc’, manager of R.U.F.C. Mr Docherty seemed surprised that the three young lads had pictures of him and they wanted them to be signed. After signing the pictures it was then the turn of the boys to be surprised when Mr Docherty invited them in to watch the training session which was to be held in the gymnasium. At the gym we were shown through a door and told to go up the spiral (?) staircase where there was a small room with only a big wooden step construction in it. We sat down and through a large Perspex glass window watched the players limbering up. The ‘Doc’ had been out of sight for a while but re-appeared wearing a gold t-shirt, gold shorts, white trainers, a wristwatch and a whistle hanging from a cord that dangled from his neck. The training then started in earnest. After 10 minutes or so we became bored watching the players dancing about and decided to study and compare the autographs we had already gleaned. We were looking at neatness or if anyone had scrawled or signed upside down etc, when suddenly there was an almighty bang as if a bomb had gone off. I didn’t know whether to have a sh-t, shave or haircut and I eventually managed to push my heart back down me throat. We soon recovered then looked through the Perspex glass window to see Mr Docherty pointing a finger up at us whilst bent backwards laughing his head off, as were the Rotherham players. We still didn’t know where the bang had come from but soon found out when the ‘Doc’ kicked a ball at the window. It made the big bang again but this time we were prepared. I will relate another story of Mr Docherty’s kind side at a later date when I get to the subject of Manchester United, if anybody’s interested. http://www.flickr.com/photos/organize/?start_tab=sets

The two identical brothers were only knee high to a locust, but Zakes really did like them. They were of Irish, Polish extract, their father was from Dublin the mother from Lublin.

A Typical Day in the Life of a 12 Year Old Boy in 1966. Part 1 of 5. Little boxes on the hillside, Little boxes made of ticky tacky Little boxes on the hillside, Little boxes all the same, There’s a green one and a pink one And a blue one and a yellow one And they’re all made out of ticky tacky And they all look just the same. The little boxes, also known as pigeon huts on the hillside, were collectively known as the Newstead Estate. This new Newstead Estate was an addition to the lower end of the Birley Estate although the houses were of a different design. The original Birley Estate houses had been built some 15 years priorer and had slanted roves which allowed rainwater to run down to be collected in the gutterings. When Zakes had first clapped eyes on the new Newstead Vic Hallam houses a year ago, he had seen the flat roves and had been filled with glee with the thought that each house could quite feasibly have a swimming pool atop, if it rained for forty days and forty neets. Being a Newsteader made Zakes feel as proud as a prowling prowler, because the area was reight rustically pastoral in a bucolic way. There was certainly nothing parochial about Newstead as opposed to the dog eat dog taint of Hackenthorpe, which was a must to avoid down the hill. Also nearby was an area called Frecheville a short walk away towards Sheffield. Frecheville had many shiny shops where people could do shopping but Zakes didn’t go there often each day. At first glance Frecheville seemed a peaceful halcyonic place to be, but it was unfortunately alive and kicking with silly supercilious snooty snobocracy. Mum Zakes who had a voice that could cut through boiler plate was peering in the mirror in the hallway to check her hair was in place before setting off to work. At times her scantiferous voice would go right through Zakes, making him wish somebody would crippenise or perhaps lapidate her for good. Zakes’ mum was a cleaner by trade and always worked together with Mrs Gerty Lux, who was also famous for her big gob. In recent times they have worked at various pubs including:- 1. Pig and Violin – Barcester. They hadn’t been there long before they got the chop for fiddling their expenses and nicking mini pork pies. 2. Lamb and Trumpet – Miltonstone. This job didn’t last long either, because there had been a fanfare of bleating complaints from customers about their rammy work. They were sacked, no ifs, no butts. 3. Turtle’s Head – Bogham Heath. This was their current job, but Zakes had heard Mum Zakes tell Dad Zakes that they were thinking of leaving because of the crap wages that were shelled out to them. The teeping of the moped horn gave warning Mrs Lux had arrived to pick up Mum Zakes. Mrs Lux didn’t have good looks, in fact she possessed a face reminiscent of a squeshed soapbox. Minutes later Zakes observed his mum climbing onto the back of the brazen blue coloured moped. God only knows how they managed to carry two mops, cloths, detergent and two buckets full of hot water on the moped without losing their balance, bewondered the head scratching Zakes. Zakes was feeling as puckish as a hungry bird so he decided to have a wholesome breakfast. Having placed an egg into the saucepan of boiling water, Zakes reached for the egg timer and turned it on it’s head and set it a three minutes for a soft runny yolk. Looking through the window, Zakes noticed the wind had dropped making it easy for him to decide to mash a pot of BrookeBond tea instead of the usual Typhoon tea. The last few grains of beach sediment were passing into the lower half of the hour glass egg timer which told Zakes his boiled chuck chuck was now ready for devouration. The breadbin was empty which irked the ever salubrious looking Zakes, but he could improvise, and he did by using his little finger to dip in where the breaded soldiers were supposed to be dipped. Having ended his morning meal, Zakes eructated thrice and dropped his guts once. After annoyingly losing a solo game of blow football Zaking excused himself and went to the bathroom to siphon his python, wash his hands and face then give his teeth a quick clean using a toothbrush and toothpaste, he then got dressed, donned his black sneakers then left the family home on Newstead Rise. Walking along Newstead Road Zakes smiled to himself because it was school half term and that pleased him. Zakes then espied the O’Neillski twins exiting Newstead Grove, he hadn’t seen them for quite a while. The two identical brothers were on their way no doubt to St. Vincents sports place in Sheffield to do some training. They were pugilists in the featherweight division which always tickled Zakes, and they had already won trophies. These two look alike boys had to eat healthily to keep fit and ate loads of fish which is good for the joints. They were often seen at Frecheville pond every Friday without fail with their rusty rods snapping mackerel out of the water which they took home to cook. They turned around having heard Zakes call them and both gave a friendly wave to Zakes who admiringly admired these two little boxers from the hillside. To be continued.