Memories of Fox Hill

[GVOWL 10]

Anyone remember the Grubbs????

[spiritangel1 10]

Yeah a big family ....blanche was my ex sister in law she passed away a few yrs ago she married my ex husbands brother. There was Dolly n cant remember other names think.there was at least 12 kids

[jennyren 10]

:i remember grubbs .can,t remember names tho , who knows jimmy mckenner?,,lived on wolf road.

Edited February 3, 2014 by jennyren
spelling

[mervyn 10]

to abarrot i do remember you and the parties if i remember right didnt you go with a girl called i think susan burton

[GVOWL 10]

Gloria Grubb

[agnesmile 10]

Thank you Oldtimer for sharing these memories. We try to create the orchard again

 

---------- Post added 06-02-2014 at 21:19 ----------

 

Has anyone got any more memories of probably photos of The Orchard??

 

---------- Post added 06-02-2014 at 21:20 ----------

 

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!

 

Thank you for sharing it!!!

[GraceEllen 10]

Does anyone remember Denise Williams, she lived at 206 Foxhill Cresent in the mid to the late 1960s?

[mickx123 10]

I lived just over the road from Jimmy,and Johnny , and Marie,we were all brought up together,i lived at number 18 Wolfe rd with my sister pat, brother Pete,and me Mick Hawley,next door was Barrie and Shirley Richards, the other side was Mr and Mrs Cooling,then the Needams,i could go on for ever but I am sure if you knew jimmy then you would know us,Hope this was of help.

 

---------- Post added 14-02-2014 at 21:58 ----------

 

I remember jimmy worked at the brewery ,Marie worked at the butchers at wadsley bridge opposite the White Horse Pub for a time can't remember w here John worked,I was born at number 18 in 1941,72 and a Half years ago, after my Mum and Dad got bombed out .

 

---------- Post added 14-02-2014 at 21:58 ----------

 

I remember jimmy worked at the brewery ,Marie worked at the butchers at wadsley bridge opposite the White Horse Pub for a time can't remember w here John worked,I was born at number 18 in 1941,72 and a Half years ago, after my Mum and Dad got bombed out .

 

---------- Post added 14-02-2014 at 22:01 ----------

 

I remember jimmy worked at the brewery ,Marie worked at the butchers at wadsley bridge opposite the White Horse Pub for a time can't remember w here John worked,I was born at number 18 in 1941,72 and a Half years ago, after my Mum and Dad got bombed out .

[jimbo2107 10]

Have only just come accross this thread but someone mentioned a teacher at Foxhill school Roy Appley, I always thought the name was Appleby but I could be wrong but his first name was definitely Roy. He was a good friend of my late uncle who was also a teacher at Foxhill, Ernest Crookes, they were friends for many years and Roy used to come to our house every Sunday evening, I have a brilliant memory of him bring 2 recorders one night and he played them both at the same time but with a different tune on both of them. Roy sadly died of a heart attack at the age of 46, he suffered chest pains whilst at work and my uncle drove him home to Walkley Lane and rang the doctor, but sadly he died in my uncles arms before the doctor arrived. I am pretty certain it was 1965, Roy had another brother called Bill who emigrated to New Zealand a couple of years before and I always remember Bill coming to our house saying he had to shave off his beloved beard because he would be regarded as a tramp over there. My uncle left Foxhill shortly after Roy's death and went to teach at Athelstone school and the Norton Free school on Mathews lane, Norton where he stayed until his retirement. Sadly he passed away in July 2012 my aunt received many letters from his ex pupils including 1 from a young woman who used a wheelchair and other schools had written off, but when her mother approached my uncle he just said bring her in and because of his devotion to teaching she went onto university.

[swanny 10]

I too have only just come across this thread. How lovely to hear all the memories you all recall of Foxhill. I lived at 21 Foxhill Way and have happy memories of my time there. My surname was 'Carr' then and I lived there from the mid 60s with my parents. We had to move to a cheaper home around 1970 because we couldn't afford the rent. I remember many a night crouched behind the sofa hiding from the rent man! It's ironic really as my friends always thought my family were rich but we were far from rich and moving home broke all of our hearts, especially my Mother's. I hated the house we moved to and I sobbed for months but I digress.

 

I recognise many of the names mentioned in this thread and also the activities undertaken. I loved going to the farm and up the lanes picking goosegobs (as we called them). I loved sliding down the banking on books or tin lids when it snowed. There was a slope outside our house where we put books on top of skates and sat on them to ride down. Great fun. I remember the van and the 'Pop and crisp' man coming around and the Rag and Bone man. I was sent to bed early on one occasion for exchanging a pair of my Mum's shoes for a balloon. She was furious when she found out what I'd done.

 

So many, many happy memories... too numerous to mention but lovely to be reminded of them.

[bonesnbradde 10]

Hi can anyone remember the pike let (crumpet) man ,always dressed in black selling pikelets. On his bike. Also alfs van. We used to chase it up Wilcox road waiting for the oranges to roll out , ps oreit swanny

[swanny 10]

Hi can anyone remember the pike let (crumpet) man ,always dressed in black selling pikelets. On his bike. Also alfs van. We used to chase it up Wilcox road waiting for the oranges to roll out , ps oreit swanny

 

Yep........can remember both but didn't know about the oranges.... drat!.....sounds like I missed out!

 

ps. Yes, and Swanny is oreit thanks for asking! LOL!