Memories of Fox Hill

[foxhilljune 10]

i used to go to school with John Gascoigne, terry bell, jackie parkin, janet hattersley etc. Yes the back hedge is still there, no houses yet

[HANDY MAN 10]

My mum used to live on Foxhill road, can't remember the number, but it was the last row of terraces next to Cowper Avenue. My mum's name was Carole Marples and she lived there until 1977 when she married my dad. My grand parents Fay and Maurice lived there into the 90's. My auntie Gaynor and Uncle's Maurice, Keith and Steve all lived there. They lived next door to Mrs Thornsby who i think still lives there. So does anyone remember my Mum?

 

I used to live next door to your mum. She lived at 410 Foxhill Road & we lived at 412. I used to knock about with Steve Marples, Phillip Thornsby & Robert Taylor. I can remember when Gaynor was born & when Keith emigrated to Australia.

[wwcrazy 10]

Did you all go shopping on Alf's van? Used to come round twice a day. Then Fletchers van for bread and cakes and the Alpine pop man. The pikelet man too used to come round on a Sunday with his bike selling, pikelets, crumpets and scones.

[MANDI 10]

I can also remember a chip van that came round for a while. Think it was Thursday nights cos used to sit and eat them with the noise of the speedway in the background.

[me1961 10]

thats something I can clearly remember MANDI the sound of the speedway on a thursday night, we could hear it from the maisonettes on fox hill ave, couldnt get to sleep till it was over.I also remember Alfs van coming round, he sold everything but the kitchen sink, if you wanted it he had it, god bless him, is he still living i wonder? perhaps someone can tell me.

[MANDI 10]

Derek is still alive and living up foxhill still. Hes the one that had Alfs van last.

[Unregistered 10]

 

i lived up foxhill until 1989, went to foxhill school, i remember headteacher mr holding

 

Before that, in the late 1960's, the same Tom Holding was the English teacher at Colley School.

 

A great bloke and I hope he's now enjoying a well deserved retirement.

.

.

.

[kensimmo 11]

Its great to read all these memories from all you ex Fox Hill residents, It really makes me smile to hear about all you lot who used to get a cardboard box and go sliding down Back Edge, I guess this was a favourite pastime of many of the kids who lived on Fox hill in the sixties and early seventies. I wonder if any of you who still live on Fox Hill can tell us if the Back Edge is still there, i bet there are houses now where the fields used to be. Please keep sending your Fox Hill memories to this forum.

 

Last time I went back it remained in all its former glory

[wardy 10]

Back edge still there no houses there yet. Sometimes you can find a burnt out car there.Had some great times sliding down grass on cardboard .

[sweetdexter 10]

Although I did not live at Fox Hill ,I went to Fox Hill Junior School about 47/8.

I believe the Headmaster was Mr Hewitt(sp.)

My mother thought I had a better chance at passing the 11 plus in the Sheffield system, because at the time we lived on the new Parson Cross which was in the West Riding education system.

Alas they found me out and i was transferred to Lound School at Chapeltown.

Later about 63/4 at the time off the Sheffield gales I was working on the construction of the Maisonettes at Fox Hill'

My Father worked at British Etcheson (sp) Electrodes for a time in the late 50,Some times when he was on 'shifts' he would walk home over 'Back edge'

I remember him bringing home a mushroom the size of a dinner plate which he had found on his way home.

i guess it was not poisonous

[oldtimer 11]

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!

[kensimmo 11]

Although I did not live at Fox Hill ,I went to Fox Hill Junior School about 47/8.

I believe the Headmaster was Mr Hewitt(sp.)

My mother thought I had a better chance at passing the 11 plus in the Sheffield system, because at the time we lived on the new Parson Cross which was in the West Riding education system.

Alas they found me out and i was transferred to Lound School at Chapeltown.

Later about 63/4 at the time off the Sheffield gales I was working on the construction of the Maisonettes at Fox Hill'

My Father worked at British Etcheson (sp) Electrodes for a time in the late 50,Some times when he was on 'shifts' he would walk home over 'Back edge'

I remember him bringing home a mushroom the size of a dinner plate which he had found on his way home.

i guess it was not poisonous

 

I recall Mr Hewitt; he was still Headmaster in 1959 when I went there. The Headmistress was Mrs Askew.