oldtimer

there used to be fish in Crabtree pond too when I was a kid

Seems a bit suspect that the bridge was safe but there were construction workers on it at the same time, doing what?

funny enough, I see there's not universal support for the building on the council website. Will be interesting to see if it gets the go-ahead despite the concerns of some local residents. Someone is editing my posts...

cheers folks, some great suggestions there...

We have a neighbourhood bear which keeps making a pest of itself. Knocking over trash cans etc.... any ideas how to put him off?

didn't he find a 'safe' in his garage?

I remember Dr Anderson, plus, does anyone remember Dr Labib Botros, bottom of Browning Road? I remember a huge eight wheeler horse box that was kept at the Marsden farm. What was the name of the woman that had the little shop on Foxhill Rd/Edge Lane? Where were the maisonettes? I remember a small row of shops almost opposite the Fox pub. At the bottom end was a petrol station. There used to be a small blue hut almost opposite the end of Lyminster road, you could buy fruit there, I think there was a shop there later that took its place. I left Sheffield in 1958, only went back for a few weeks after I got out of the air force in 1964, so I hardly know of anything you are all writing about. The mansion I wrote about was at the end of the lane opposite Browning Road

I know a couple of you remember these times! MY CHILDHOOD I was born in Sheffield, Yorkshire, England in 1939. Sheffield, once the world centre for steel and cutlery, has a population of just over half a million. The house my parents lived in when I was born was destroyed by a German bomb in the opening hours of the Blitz. My parents and my older brother and I were moved to a brand new house in a brand new housing estate, Foxhill, almost at the top of one of the seven hills (not brand new!) of Sheffield. 97 Browning Road was the address. From my bedroom window, I could look to the left and see across the valley to Southey Hill. Looking straight ahead, I could see for miles across another valley to the Crookes/Walkley area, with a view also of Stannington. Looking to the right was my favourite view, across yet another valley to Middlewood, which, at the time, contained what I was told was England's largest mental Asylum. It appears it is now a housing estate. The asylum, of course, was not the attraction, but behind it the hills always intrigued me. Why? I don't think there was anything there that I was excited about at the time, but I always wonder if that view started my lifelong fascination with 'what is over the next hill'. At the end of our street, 9 houses down a very slight grade, was Foxhill Road, a narrow winding road that led from Wadsley Bridge station to the village of Grenoside, a few miles away on top of the hill. Foxhill Road was on the edge of the Foxhill estate, and contained houses that ran the gamut from small cottages to a large mansion at the end of Browning Road. On the estate the houses were mostly semi-detached, with some houses in a row of four, sometimes six, with jennels (a narrow arched passageway) between the middle houses in the row. One of the first loves of my life lived in the mansion. Margaret Plaice was the only child of Mr and Mrs Plaice. Her father was the manager of a steel mill in Sheffield, he had a Jaguar! Of course, being the son of a steel worker, I was invisible to my love, and was not even given the courtesy of a verbal rejection. I was simply ignored, I didn't exist in this young lady's life. She warn't that great anyhow! There was a narrow lane running past the mansion, with a dry stone wall on one side, and a fence on the other. This lane, I never knew if it had a name, made a 90 degree right turn about 200 to 300 yards from the main road, and ended just a few yards past the corner at a small orchard. This was the abode of the second 'love of my life', Christeen Chapman, who was a friend of Miss Plaice, so I'll let you figure out my relationship with this strumpet! Did a lot of scrumping for pears, apples and damsons in her dad’s orchard, though. At the corner, we used to jump over a low stile, that went over a small stream, and went diagonally across what I can best describe as a wilderness. Nettles, weeds, and other unknown species of plant life, including a weed that had a hollow stalk, was about an inch round, and when pulled out of the ground and trimmed, then dried, made the best pea shooter in the world. The stream was only a couple of feet wide at that point, came from I knew not where, and went underground in a few feet. I suspect it stayed underground until it got to the bottom of Foxhill Road, for there a larger body of water appeared from nowhere, and emptied into a reservoir next to a large building. I never knew what was made in this place, the building was huge, right next to the sidewalk. About four stories high, with two of them below ground level, there were large windows every few feet along the side, and, when we looked in, all we could see was machinery two floors below. There were no floors in the building other than the bottom floor.I remember there was a huge overhead crane, but I never saw it working. Of course, to a young lad during and just after the war, this cavernous, and slightly scary place was perfect to make up stories about, just to scare the younger kids who always hung around, thwarting our plans to chat up the young ladies of our aquaintance. My favourite story was one I made up, about the place being a secret German factory for making engines for Stuka dive bombers! This was after the war, a detail I conveniently forgot when telling the story! Back to the wilderness. The footpath through the mini-jungle came out at the end of the lane that went up to the orchard, then the lane, now a cart track, followed the wall into another field, until we literally came to the 'end of the world'. One of my mates made the analogy the first time he was allowed to come out with us older lads. As we neared the end of the footpath, we knew that it ended on top of 'the Back-edge'. To him, of course, being smaller, and not being able to see much over the small wall, there was just sky. It was, to him, the 'end of the world'. I was always lead to believe that the back-edge was the official start of the Pennine Chain, but I don't think it was. Starting a few hundreds yards to the left, as we came off the path, the top of the ridge went for a few hundred yards, then was bisected by a lane, that went on an angle to the right, down the hill, then followed the bottom of the ridge, until it met up with another identical lane coming from the top of what we called, logically enough, the second back edge. This lane went to the bottom of the hill to the village of Oughtibridge. We were then on the third back-edge, but never went much further, for this led to the Black Woods, and the dreaded Wharnecliffe Crags! Never seen by any of us, the name Wharnecliffe Crags would strike terror in us young lads. Why? I never knew why, but I heard lots of stories about the Earl of Wharnecliffe, who had, according to legend, (ours, anyway) a mentally deranged son, who would speed down the roads and lanes in his sports car, running over kids. I think he did indeed hit a small child some years before, and, unfortunately, never did live down the reputation. As we would stand on top of the ridge and look down, we could see Batchelors vegetable processing plant, at the bottom of the hill. The plant was a source of empty cardboard boxes, which we used to slide down the hill. Bisecting the first back-edge was a footpath that went from the top, on the right, to the bottom on the left. It came from nowhere, and ended nowhere, no houses, no buildings of any kind near it, although it was common just after the war, for some of the women who worked at Batchelors to walk to work. Maybe they made the path? Who knows? There were four small cottages at the bottom of the hill, on a lane (Midhurst Road) that came from Foxhill Road to a small farm a few hundred yards along the bottom of the ridge, but they were nowhere near the path. Over the years, us kids took the cardboard boxes that we knicked from Batchelors, and slid down the grassy hill to the lane. We always forgot about the footpath, and, as we were sitting on a very thin piece of cardboard, it was sometimes a very painful ride! When we were going for wood for Guy Fawkes night, we would walk alongside the unloading area at Batchelors, where the lorries would unload huge loads of peas, still on the vine. We always stopped and watched the machinery, and the general activity in the plant, which had no walls at that point. One day we were intrigued to see, on a steel beam, three flashing lights, red, green, and blue. There was a sign that read 'Watch for repeating sequences'. Never did see a repeating sequence, and learned many years later that the lights were put there for our benefit, courtesy of some sick, weird plant foreman. One of our 'secret 'places was a couple of fields past the end of the lane with the cottages. We had noticed, over time, that sometimes closed dump trucks would slowly drive to the end of the lane, then proceed through a couple of fields, then return. Of course, we explored. It was a dump for all the rotten fruit and vegetables that were rejected by Bachelors. To this day I don't believe what we did! There were a couple of ponies in the field, and we fought them for the best bad fruit. It was just after the war, you know. Bad fruit was better than no fruit! Just behind the aforementioned orchard, was Birley Carr Methodist Church Sports Field. The field had three hard shale tennis courts, where the sons and daughters of the 'private house' people would play, allowing us to fetch the odd tennis ball that was hit by mistake over the 15 foot high chain link fence. Never knew if the fence was to keep the balls in, or us 'common lads' out. Next to the tennis courts was the 'pavilion', where, on Saturday afternoons, during either cricket or football season, afternoon 'tea' was served, two brown bread cucumber sandwiches, two cream wafers, one Cream Cracker, and a radish, on a real china plate. Of course, no paper cups or plates back then. The mandatory tea was served in a miniscule cup, and us kids were allowed to purchase a 'set tea' for a tanner, another threpny bit if you wanted a refill. On the other side of the pavilion from the tennis courts was a soccer pitch, with a cricket pitch on the other side of that. There was the regulation grumpy old groundskeeper, who's biggest tribulation in life was, of course, us 'estate kids.' As my dad was the honorary trainer of the local working man's club football team, I always had a 'casey', never a T-ball, though. We played lots of games on the pitch, but we used coats for the goals, the regulation goal posts were way too big for us. Due to what I can only assume was a mutual agreement, we never even set foot on the cricket pitch, especially between the creases. I think the old groundskeeper was content to let us play soccer on his pitch, as long as we stayed off the manicured grass of the cricket pitch. We never did play on it, either, in fact, we often chased kids from other estates off it. My pride and joy at age 12 was a three-springer cricket bat, a present from my parents when I passed the 11 plus. Lost that sucker the first week at Firth Park Grammar School, some lad nicked it from my locker. All in all, not a terribly deprived child hood, but we were never too far away from the sound of the steam hammers in Attercliffe and Tinsley, and could see the very bright glow from the blast furnaces when they blew at night. I guess we were one of the posh families. On our street we had brick air-raid shelters, one for each two houses! Only trouble was, they had a six inch concrete roof! Very efficient until you got a direct hit! If the bomb didn't get you, you were crushed to death by the bloody roof! One day a man came and painted a black square, about two feet by two feet, on the bricks on the corner of the house. He then painted the letters B.G. in white. This stood for Bomb Grabber. This was provided by some government agency, I presume. A long handle with a little lever on one end and a claw on the other. This was supposed to be used to ‘grab’ unexploded bombs! Yea, I’m sure I would have approached an unexploded bomb with a six foot stick! Anybody remember Burdall's Gravy Salt? Burdall's buildings covered a huge area on Langsett Road in Sheffield. It used to be an army barracks in WW1. My first job was at Sycamore Repetition, in what used to be the bath house for the whole army base! BTW, in 1955, it was the only building in the whole complex that didn't have water! I think I got one pound five a week! Smith's potato crisps was in the next building, and behind was Sheffield Stainless Steel Wire. I was just a young lad, and used to eat my lunch in the courtyard were the women from SSSW ate. One day five of them pulled down the pants of one of the apprentices, and tied some very fine wire around his penis. Elsie (there was always an Elsie, wasn't there?) lifted up her smock, and pulled down her knickers in front of the lad. Wrong thing to do! The wire was very thin, but strong. Almost cut his penis off when his young body automatically reacted to his first view of ‘The centre of the universe’, as it were! Had to be rushed to the Royal Infirmary further down Langsett road. Elsie became a local folk hero when she told the manager to mind his own ####ing business. The apprentice quit his job. Thought I might be next, so got a job in Ecclesfield. Anybody else think the same as I did, that it wasn’t a ‘real’ holiday unless you went to the seaside! Allus wondered where the people who lived at the seaside went for their holidays!

Sorry I can't help with Picture it software, but I am at my wit's end trying to find a version of it to solve a problem I have, maybe you could help me?. I produce books, and I have a habit of making all the photographs I put into the books oval shaped. I had a version of Picture It in 2003 that I think was version 3. The reason I liked that version was that I could put a fading border on an oval photo. The later versions allow that, but, when the picture is pasted into MS Pub, (the software I use for all my books), the border, instead of being a smooth fade, shows up as a checkerboard border. Any information on that? oldtimer

I came to Canada in 1965. Never been back. never wanted to. 'Aboot' to my knowledge, is entirely an Ontario pronunciation. I live 200 miles or so north of Calgary, and have never heard that pronunciation there. In my humble opinion, Canada at it's worst is better than England at it's best! I came on the ten pound assisted passage deal, and have never regretted it. Alberta has the oil-sands, and the economy is going through the roof! (Prices also, unfortunately) but the job market is starving for employees. Canada House in London (if they are still there) is a gold mine of information, you might try there. I bought my house in 1974 for $41,000, the value is now $250,000 (around 125,000 pounds,) but, of course, to buy a new house now would take that much money, so , no profit to spend! It is said in Alberta that, if you can't find a job here, you are not looking hard enough! oldtimer

I think the 'blacklead' factory was called British Insulated Callenders Company when I used to play around Batchelors in the late '40's/early '50's. My friend's dad used to work there at that time. and he too used to come home covered in a black shiny coating of whatever they used to make there. He died a terrible death with lungs that were so coated with that stuff that there was no capacity for oxygen in the lungs. Wasn't it called Acheson Electrodes after the war?

Every Sunday Aggie used to stop at our house at the top of Browning Road, and I would rush out with a tanner and my dad's pint pot! This was the only time I got ice-cream, although if my Aunty Elsie from the Manor came for tea, my mother would send me out to the Walls van(I still remember the chimes) to buy a brick of ice-cream.

Two comments. As a lad I worked in Langsett Road Barracks, (Burdalls Buildings) at a very small machine shop called Sycamore Repetition. We made small rotary tools that I , as the 'young lad', had to take in a sack to a 'Little Mesters place just off Langsett Road. The tools had teeth put on them, and were then sent elsewhere for finishing. This was in 1955. A few years ago, I had dentures made for me in Edmonton. Alberta, Canada. Imagine my surprise when I saw the dental technician adjusting the fit of my dentures, using one of the rotary tools that I had handled so long ago. I know they were the ones I made, because the box that had other tools in was marked with the name of the place where I worked, with the appropriate date! The other comment? I had two uncles, Tom Parkes and Ernest Brady, (my dad's brother) who leased a small shop somewhere around Scotland street, they were file makers. My mother spent many years after WW2 working for Leppingtons Cutlers.

Thank you for all your kind comments. Yes, I do this for free! I signed up for the writer's group, but realised very quickly that my stories pale by comparison to all of yours. I did post a request for anyone interested to contribute to another book, but , after I asked Jabbers to finish a story he had posted, and then decided not to finish, to please at least finish it so I could add it to his book, I was very quickly told to cease and desist from copying stories from the writers group. As I explained, I couldn't even open the stories, let alone read and copy them. Since that time, (sometime last year) I found, to my delight, that I can now open almost all the stories to read. Therefore, I will once again ask anyone who has posted a story that they have written, if they would be interested in having their story in my next book! Let me explain a little more. As Jabber will tell you, there will be no charge for anything to do with the book, I do this for a hobby, and am quite prepared to absorb all the costs to produce the book,. The book would be leather bound, eight and a half by eleven inches, and contain a photograph on each page. Any story submitted will be put in the book 'as is', NO changes, no spell or grammar check, nothing! At this time, I would like to formally request of the moderators that I be allowed to do this, their decision to be final, which I will abide by. If and when the book does get done, I will send it to whoever will agree to make it available to anybody who has a story in it, to be read and then returned. If anyone would like more information, please contact me either with a PM, or by e-mail at :[email protected] Thank you. Brian Brady a.k.a. oldtimer

I was the chauffeur for Mr Gordon (Wilson) in 1963, just before I came to Canada. The Rolls had a brick garage in the yard between the packing department and the spanner shop. Don't remember anybody from either place. I heard Mr Gordon died shortly after I left. Dixie Wilson, Mr Gordon's daughter, worked across West Street in the 'fitted case' dept, his son Tommy, I heard, took over the company after his dad died. I think there was a Tony Wilson, brother, and a brother in law, who hired me. Very good hand tools, I got a set for free!

Don't remember much about the Ecclesfield cinema, but I know I ran from the pub on Halifax Road, (the last building on Halifax road until the cottage hospital). It was very dark, and I didn't have a lot of time before the film started, but, looking back, I had already seen 'Blackboard Jungle' 26 times, so what was the rush to see it again? That would have been in 1955-6.

Hello, my name is Brian Brady, I am 67 years old, and am not ready to roll over and die! I have written my own (boring) life story, but I have volunteered to produce a book for the writing group, any stories submitted to the Writers Group. I have produced 5 books so far, in eight and a half by eleven inch size, with a leather binding. Dave Milner, the 'City Snapper' has graciously agreed to the use of his wonderful photographs of Sheffield in the book, at the rate of one full colour pic per page. I don't know yet what the procedure will be, but for what it's worth, might I suggest that any stories submitted be critiqued by the appropriate member, and then, if the writer agrees, the story sent to me for inclusion in the book.I have no plans to commercially publish the book, but it will be sent to one of the moderators, so that anyone can see it. Just a few ideas to get the ball rolling. Brian Brady, a.k.a. oldtimer

I had a 125cc Vespa in 1962. Fantastic machine, gets through traffic, no sweat. Park ANYWHERE. Best vehicle for the city, BUT, if it is a 2-stroke (do they make them anymore? You have to use a petrol/oil mixture) DO NOT, repeat, do not, go on a motorway unless you back off on the accelerator often, you will seize up the engine if you don't. How do I know this? Duh!! Had a top speed of 80 mph (true), got about 75 mpg, very economical, but a little dodgy in rain or high winds. They have just started to sell the Vespa here in Alberta, Canada, but minus 30 degrees! I think not!!

Don't be modest, Ray, you are as sick and witty as anybody here!

I don't think my writing is good enough, but I have published books that I have done using other people's e-mails. I would be willing to publish any and all stories in a legal size book, with a leather binding FREE!!!!! See my post on the forum re 'Childhood memories of Sheffield' on the Sheffield History and ex-pats link.

Hi Arthur. I don't remember an e-mail from you. What did you put in the 'subject' space?

Just got my first collection of 'Sheffield memories'. Good stuff, and I am all excited about doing another book. The stories I got today are from the late 80's, perfect for the theme of the next book, all I need now are LOTS MORE!! (not shouting, just trying to grab some attention!) I don't pick the stories, you do, i will include them with no changes, I don't do a spell-check, unless you request it, your spelling and grammar are not critical. I know from the past couple of years that I have been on the Sheffield forum that a lot of you have some very interesting memories, please send them to me, I will even publish them without using your name, in fact, if you don't include your name, I can't publish it, can I? I can guarantee that anything you send WILL be in the book, there is no dead-line, but A.S.A.P. will do! Brian(oldtimer)Brady

Thought I wouod bring this post back up, in case nobody saw it!

I don't remember Pickards Heavy Haulage, but I do remember Pickfords Heavy Haulage. Didn't work there, though.

When I left England for Canada in 1965, I went to see my mother in Hyde Park flats. She was 64 years old, and very heavy. Imagine my surprise when I found out her flat was 13 or so steps down from the front door! She complained that she never got any visitors, because, when the door bell rang, it would take her so long to climb the stairs to the front door that she didn't bother after a while! Her 'front room' was just big enough for a sofa, literally feet from the front window, which, BTW, looked out onto some grass next to another block of flats. Probably one of the most miserable places to live, even though it was brand new. The large lift at the end of the walkway was ,even then, a rubish tip. I am not surprised it was torn down, my mother moved to the top of St Phillips road, to a ground floor flat, that actually had a view from the front window, or so my mother told me.