Did you ever live in Parson Cross?

[Unregistered 10]

Opposite the Forty Foot Pub, between Wordsworth Avenue and Halliwell Crescent, there used to be what to us as kids was a massive valley. It had loads of trees and a stream running through the bottom.

 

It was later used as a dump-it site where Council bin lorries used to dump all the household refuse, until it built up to the level where it is today. As the ground was too unstable for housing, it was made into a bit of a park.

 

All that area, (before Wordsworth Avenue was built in the 1930's and down to Herries Road and the Five Arches) provided a meagre living for several families as they produced charcoal for the steel industry from the trees in Scraith Wood.

[Bushbaby 11]

At the junction of Adlington and Deerlands was a large cornfield which we often played in during the summer, when it was dry, and the corn grew past your head (except for Peapod, he could still see over it)

 

When it was harvested, a huge pile of straw was left behind, and that’s when the fun really started.

We would pile the straw up against the side of the powerhouse, and start leaping off into mid-air and falling onto a giant cushion of straw. There would be Superman flying leaps, forward somersaults, backward somersaults, and a whole myriad of airborne poses. Gymnastic prowess suddenly became the norm. Kids from all corners of the cross would magically appear and queue patiently to have their turn, shouting “Geronimo” at the optimum moment. Territorial issues were left to one side as we all made full use of this “Once a year” phenomenon. Even some Foxhill kids were allowed on. (Only a few though, and then only if they brought girls or fags with them!)

 

As it got darker, big kids would come and set fire to it, then Bill Moyer would leap into a pile of burning straw, pausing only to sniff back his hay fever before having another go. He would still be risking 30% burns when the fire engine came down Buchanan and we all scarpered back to our own niches, eyes watering and breath coming in heavy gulps.

 

I don’t see many cornfields today. It’s all Rape Seed. Can’t leap from 12 foot up onto that during harvest time, can yer?

[Unregistered 10]

Parson Cross shopping areas are a disgrace.

 

Margetson, Buchanan, Wheata, Wordsworth Drive, Chaucer and Lindsay.

[Timbuck 10]

I visited "The Cross" today..went to see a relative...Question, why dont the Council cut the grass verges? they make the place look really bad.

[Unregistered 10]

Originally posted by Timbuck

I visited "The Cross" today..went to see a relative...Question, why dont the Council cut the grass verges? they make the place look really bad.

 

 

Answer, Because it costs money and people complain about the level of their Council Tax.

[Bushbaby 11]

I got to thinking recently about one of the great rites of passge which most boys (and quite a few girls) went through some time between the ages of 13 and 15.

I refer of course to “The Paper Round”. This was the first chance many of us had to top up our “Spendo” with a few bob, honestly earnt.

I went up Chaucer Rd and approached Mr Fogg (Harry to his friends and cheeky paperboys) shortly after my 13th birthday, and asked him if he had any jobs going.

“Thy art 14 aren’t tha?” I was asked.

“Cooerse I am” I responded, sucking on a woodbine for effect.

“Cum in Sunday morning then, and tha can be ’t spare lad - an don’t be late”

 

I was excited come Sunday, and got up as soon as it got light. This being July, that was well before 6 o’clock, but there was no way I was going back to sleep. I hunted around for matching socks (vainly as it turned out), ran a damp flannel over my face, and listened to the radio until 6:30. I then headed up the garden path and across three more shortcuts, on schedule to meet Harry’s famous bonus time. (In before 6:45 for six out of seven days got you half-a-crown bonus!!)

 

I skipped into the shop whistling Gershwin’s Foggy Day, only to be greeted by my new boss asking

“Who’er tha?”. I’d obviously made a good impression.

“Bushbaby! – tha genn me a job last week”

He gave a grunt of vague recognition and then got me to help him marking-up. This process entailed Harry shouting

“No 42. Observer”. I would then scamper round, pick an Observer off the pile, and write 42 on the front upper border. Harry knew the habits of the lads, and so we marked-up the rounds in the order the team came in.

The first was “Rocher”. This was a small private estate just off the top of Yew Lane, and due to their inflated incomes (I was off Wordsworth don’t forget) they all had Sunday Times’s, complete with all the magazines and supplements. That bag weighed a ton, and the delivery boy, Pod, split the load into two and waddled up Chaucer, paper bags criss-crossed around his straining neck, ready to face the rigours of schnauzers and French poodles.

 

The marking-up took us until 8 o’clock, as a steady stream of half-asleep kids came in, picked up their bags and set off for sleepy suburbia, or Mansell Ave as we called it. By half-eight there was one forlorn bag left, sat in the corner trying not to look sad. A card sticking out of it said “Deerlands” and it slowly became apparent that Syd, guardian of the Deerlands circuit, wasn’t coming in.

 

“Weere’s tha live Bushbaby?” I kinda knew what was coming

“Wordsworth”

“Well, tha should know Deerlands alreight. Does tha fancy tekkin sum pappers?”

 

And so, five minutes later I set off on my debut round.

 

And I absolutely loved it.

 

I felt really important making sure that Mrs Heyward got her Sunday Mirror, and delivering a News of the World for the Websters. I went up one side, towards Halifax Rd, detouring around the Mount for a single Sunday Post. I then came down the other side, and finished off with the last few on Wordsworth, my own house being the coincidental last stop. I had a quick cup of tea (still no-one else up) and listened to some more kitchen radio.

Harry had asked me to come back to the shop after I’d finished, and when I did, he gave me my first pay, sixpence for being marker-up and a bob for the round. He also winked at me and slipped me five parkies, then said

“See thee tomorra – an don’t be late”

 

I worked there for over two years, finishing off as head lad, which meant dishing out the Stars to the other guys, and working in the shop if they were short.

It was a great introduction to working life, and I’m sure helped me to appreciate endeavour, and indeed, its rewards.

 

I wonder if paper boys still get the same level of achievement?

[sweetdexter 10]

I used to deliver for Jacksons.

They lived at the corner of Remington Ave & Remington Rd just across from Colley School.

My memories are not as elequent as Bushbaby's nor as memorable.

This was in 52-3 -4.

For 12/6 a week I delivered Morning papers and the Star.

Thursday was an extra round with the Radio Times.

Saturday was also an extra round with 'The Green Un'

Sunday I had to have a wagon to haul them around..

Then I had to collect on Friday night.

My round went from Margetson along Wordsworth to the house past Bushbaby's,back down the other side of Wordsworth ,Milnrow road and Milnrow Drive then both sides of Wordsworth up to Colley on one side and Margetson on the other.

I handed the earnings to my mother and she gave me back 2/6.

See the kids doing that today? Not likely.

[Unregistered 10]

This photo of the Fives Arches was taken in the 1920's before Herries Road and Parson Cross was bulilt.

 

Taken with back to the Sheffield Wednesday ground, a mere dirt path led under the centre arch to the farm lands of Parson Cross.

 

The Five Arches

[Unregistered 10]

I'm sure they used to try poisoning the Kids of the Cross with cod liver oil tablets.

[Bushbaby 11]

My friend Wriggo used to call "Castor Oil" - castrated oil.

And he wasn't being ironic.....

[Bushbaby 11]

Throwin’ arrows

 

When I was about twelve we had a short lived but very intensive craze based around Throwin’ Arrows.

 

Kids of all ages would assemble at the "Cleveland" garage on Wordsworth, with their home made arrows, ready to see who could throw the furthest.

 

The arrow was in fact a cane, between two and three feet long, with a notch 9 inches from one end. This end was then split with two cuts, made at right angles to each other.

Using thin card (Sugar Smacks packet?) flights would be made by carefully folding squares of card, and then inserting them into the cuts in the cane. (Here’s one I made earlier). Two or three flights would be used, depending on taste and weight distribution. The gaps between the flights, and at the end, were then sealed with a good wrapping of sellotape.

 

At the other end (the business end) was a weight, and picking the right weight was an art. Knocking a small nail in (or even a big one) often sufficed, but these were the days when many of the kids were employed in craft engineering, and there were some very elaborate points turned, courtesy of EITB, which were then fashioned on to the arrows, rendering them quite lethal.

 

A piece of string or bootlace, with a healthy knot at one end, was then wrapped twice around the stick, just above the notch. The thrower would grip the sharp end, picking up the excess string in a few hand wraps, run across Wordsworth at full pelt, and throw the arrow down the field, using a kind of cricket bowling action. The string would act as a Bolas, and propel the arrow down as far as the bottom of Ray Burns’ garden.

 

Competition was fierce, and some of the older kids (upto 17 or so) could really make those things fly. Many of the cycle speedway riders (see elsewhere in this thread) were the dominant throwers, but a few younger kids also got a look in, as throwing style could be a real art form.

 

I don’t recall anyone ever getting hit by an arrow – the mind boggles at the mere thought – but those long school holiday days of 1968 were a memorable time of experiment and enlightenment.

[Internetowl 10]

Throwing arrows were pretty big in the late 70's too - nail in the end , see if you could get them to really fly on the brook - opp the Garage on Wordsworth - god only knows what would have happened if we'd have hit anyone...didn't seem too much a risk in them days..

 

Pete Howe lives on the estate on the hill at the hillsborough end of Wordsworth Ave - where Ken lives - I ain't got a clue.

 

Went onto the 'Cross' recently - its a shame seeing all the houses being ripped down and the land to be left to go to seed - prime site for any would be developer though (probably the councils plan) - I remember my grandad saying he remembers when all this was fields - seems its going full circle.