EDITORIAL

 

Oi enner kiddin’ yo this festive  edition of our  ‘Old End News’ is a real bosta, so tek  a bough all of you who’ve sent in such berry wonderful articles for this issue, they are real crackers and will certainly give us all such a great Christmas tree-t. And while I’m dishing out the praise I mustn’t forget the rest of you that have sent stuff in and kept the ‘News’ goin this year, cheers everyone.   

     I bet that like me you sometimes reminisce and compare how things are nowadays to Christmas’s past.  Do you remember the excitement of your early Christmas’s when you woke up on Christmas morning to find that one good present plus an Annual, an apple or an orange and a few coppers wrapped in some Christmas paper in your stocking? And do you remember the winters we used to have back then, we’d have weeks of Artic hell when back gardens used to disappear under snow in November and were not seen again until the following March, the outside lav used to freeze up and giant icicles would be dangling like javelins from rooftops and we still had to traipse through the snow to go to school.

   We might not have had as much back then and times were certainly harder but I’ve got some great memories of growing up back then down the ‘Old End’ and I know you have to, so lets be having ‘em next year.

                                                                                                                                                       John.

 

 

 

Christmas at Nechells -  with me Bike   

 

“It’s creeping to you” my Mother said

‘Think it’s time you went to bed

Shut your eyes and do not peep

Cuddle up warm and get to sleep

And tomorrow will be CHRISTMAS DAY

So hope that tonight Christmas Eve

Father Christmas will know his way’

 

Lay in my bed under the sheet

Like Mommy said I wouldn’t peep

But it was dark gas light was out

And voices in my head began to shout

‘When is he coming, what will he bring

My ‘GIRL’ book and other things’

 

Pictures appeared as I was dozing off

About our real Christmas tree and stuff

Real wax candles on the stuck out arms

And paper chains we had made up above

And a coke fire in the black lead grate

To keep us nice and warm

Hope Father Christmas could find his way

And began to doze off as I yawned

 

A BIKE, yes a BIKE with a basket on the front

And a ladies one of course

Oh great was my thought shall give it a ride

Cuz I had been on one before

A little one an old one that never had any tyres

So riding over the cobble stones

Wore us out and made us tired

 

 

Out in the yard and wobbling a bit

But kept thinking I could do the trick

So round and round and feeling great

But then things around me became in a state

Out popped David Green from 4/12 Weston Street

Dressed like ‘Mountbatten’ oh boy he looked sweet

But he was running around

Never spotted my bike

Then the accident happened and it wasn’t nice

 

My front tyre ran into the chap

And put little David straight on his back

And yes I seemed to run over him

My tyre print was from his big toe to his chin

His white and navy suit was ruined of course

And I would get a shout

‘Bring the bloody thing in don’t ride it again

And when you get here you will get a clout

Mother’s words very loudly came out

 

So my eyes were looking at the floor

Oh Father Christmas was my thought

Think you had it wrong Santa Claus

Delivering the silly bicycle to my door

So I then parked it up a corner and no

Wouldn’t ride it any more

 

So Father Christmas,

When you come next year

I will certainly leave you a note

NO BIKE, NO SCOOTER, NO SKATES

A couple of books and a doll

And do bring David lots of toys

Am so glad he is well…….  Betty P.

 

MEMORIES  OF  THE  OLD  END

 

My Auntie Alice (Mrs Moorcroft) lived on the corner of Great Brook Street and Willis Street. Christmas night was spent there, all the neighbours came in, my Dad would play the piano and everyone would sing.

     Wash day meant all the clothes lines criss-crossing the yard. I remember the people helped each other on those days and cooked the dinner for the ladies with larger families. When the washing was completed all the tubs were empted and the suds bucketed over the yard and then swept clean.

     The Salvation Army band played outside the Army and Navy pub on Sunday’s. I think they did a roaring trade with the paper called ‘The War Cry’ in the pub. The men had the greatest respect for the ladies in their small bonnets.

     We played hop scotch, bounce the ball and skipping also whip and top and chalked coloured circles on the tops. We used to pretend we were shopkeepers and pretend to sell pebbles or slates which were weighed on small tin scales. The nearest park was Vauxhall, but sometimes we went Garrison Lane or Ward End. Our Sunday school was in Henry Street and on Anniversary Days we walked in a parade led by the Boys Brigade. I still remember the Sunday School teacher Sally Beech with affection.

      I remember some afternoons we used to go to the Art Gallery (The Museum) maybe because it was free. I recall going to the Lickey Hills on the tram and if you were with an adult you could go upstairs and sit in the seats in the open air. We could always have a drink of water at the fountain which had a metal cup chained to it.

     Later I went to Lingard Street, called Bloomsbury Secondary School for Girls. As we were left with a Dad also the help of Auntie Alice to bring us up, we were frowned upon by the teachers because we wore older clothes. This is something I never forgot.

     On leaving school my first job was at the Co-op main store in High Street, City Centre and I thought it was wonderful. The first time I saw the sea I was 16 and I went to Blackpool with the Co-op on the train.        

      I remember VE day, I went to Broad Street and there were hundreds of people there, up lamp posts on walls and buildings and everyone sang Land of Hope and Glory. I felt so proud to be one of them. VJ day celebrations also were great bonfires and parties in the streets, dancing and singing and some tears were shed for loved one’s who never returned.

     In 1954 I married and eventually moved to Sheldon then later to Willenhall in the Black Country with my husbands firm which moved from Weaman Street, at the back of the General Hospital because of the road alterations. This was a good move for us. I went on to become a book keeper (which I still do). My two sons have done very well for themselves   and laugh when I say “You should have seen how we had to live in our day, no bathroom and the toilets in the yard which sometimes froze in the winter” “Oh yes is the answer we have heard  it all before” is the reply.

                                                  Doreen Rhodes (nee Watts)

 

The above story was originally given to Eric for inclusion in the archives and he has passed it on to me to put in the ‘News’

Tommy Edmonds

My grandfather Tommy Edmonds was in his day well known as a professional lightweight boxing Champion of the Midlands. He was born on the 2^nd January, 1882, His parents, my great grandparents John and Christiana Edmonds were at the time living at back 118 Spring Hill. It is not exactly known when but at some time the family moved to Duddeston where Tommy grew up.     

     The young Tommy had a natural liking for the game and this was no doubt fostered by his father, Professor Jack Edmonds who was one of the best known instructors of the “noble art”.  Tommy was also a graduate of the Jem Mace school of boxing at the Black Lion Tavern, Coleshill Street and it is also thought that he put in a lot of work at the Green Lamp, Dale End, which was at the time under the management of an old timer by the name of Dyer or Dwyer, whose boxing booth experience made him qualified to pass on useful advice to a beginner.

     Aged 22, he married Priscilla Evans, my grandmother on the 20^th March, 1905. They had five children, four girls and a boy. The girl’s names were Ethel, Marie, Gwen and Irene. The boy being my dad was Thomas. At some time during their marriage they moved into 1½ Coleman Street, Duddeston.

 

    

Tommy Edmonds

 

.

Although my granddad had nearly one hundred fights in every part of Great Britain also in the Channel Islands and France, losing only three overall, we sadly have no record of them, although my eldest brother who is also named Tommy said that when we were kids living in Austin Street, Nechells there was a really big poster of our granddad that had something to do with his boxing and also that we used to play with his medals. I remember the medals clearly but at the time did not realise their significance. We now think that sadly they must have all got lost when the family moved due to the redevelopment of the area from Austin Street, Nechells to Burton Wood Drive, Perry Barr in 1960.

         One story that was passed from my dad to my brother Tommy was about when granddad was a young man and he went to the fair where there was a boxing booth.  A man would shout “If anyone can go 3 rounds with this boxer (who’d be standing there) you’ll get £2, naturally granddad said “I’ll have a go” but didn’t tell him he’d done some boxing, anyway he went into ring and knocked the boxer out. The manager said “you’ve done some boxing before and so you’re not getting the £2. Granddads reply was “you see him on the deck, well if

you don’t give me my £2. you’ll be joining him”. Needless to say he got his £2.

       We also know that at some stage after his boxing career had ended he was in the Army. He fought in France in the First World War and after being gassed in the trenches was pensioned out.

      At the time of his death aged 45 on the 10^th July, 1927 he was working at the Midland Carriage Works, Washwood Heath as a railway carriage wheel painter. Although he had for some time stopped competitive boxing he continued with his love for the sport as an instructor for the works Athletic Club.

    

The Funeral Carriage

 

    Aged only 45 he died of cancer of the jaw on 10^th July, 1927, the funeral cortège left from 1½ Colman Street where he was still living for the internment at the Uplands Cemetery, Smethwick. Why he was buried in Smethwick which in those days was quite a way from where he lived and no one can find out. The Lord Mayor of the day and a considerable number of exponents of boxing including Jack Hood who he was greatly respected by and who he had coached and sparred with during Jack’s early days in the game and during his rise up through the ranks to the British and European welterweight titles were present at his funeral.

     Credit must go to my Auntie Irene's son Peter's wife, Janet Warren who has mainly done all the painstaking research into our grandfather, and after quite a search it was her that found his grave just in time to

save it from being used again which is what apparently happens after so many years.  Then together with my brother Trevor they saw the authorities in charge of these matters and were able to restore it.

 

  The Old Grave       The Restored Grave   

 

Ann Broughton nee Edmonds

TRADESMEN VISITORS TO OUR HOUSE IN ROCKY LANE

IN THE 1940’S AND PERSONAL STORIES.

 

Just a few memories of my childhood days being brought up in Nechells

and the people that I met presented in alphabetical order.

 

By Gerald Walton aged 74.

 

THE COAL MAN

 

    The coal man used to drop 5 Hundredweight at a time in 1 Hundredweight bags down the cellar from the street. If Dad was at home he would move it from under the cellar head to the side of the cellar. When I was about ten and Dad was at work, I used to shift it. It was then I knew that I didn’t want to be a Fireman on the railway.

    If we were running out of coal my Mom would say “go and see old Pow down the coal yard on the Green and see if he’ll let you have half a cwt”. I used to dread it!

     I’d get to his gate and hope that it would be Mrs. Pow who came out as she was nice to you. If it was him he’d bawl “wot d yo want”. I’d say “Mom says have you got half a hundredweight she can have”. He’d then reluctantly say ‘ave that one over there and leave me to pay him and shift it.

    The trucks were made of heavy planks painted black with his name painted white on the side. The wheels were cast iron, worn, with chunks of metal chipped out of them and held on with a large cotta pin. They had long handles and I used to have a hell of a job getting them over the kerb especially if I was pushing a Hundredweight.  When I took the truck back I used to dump it and run in case the miserable old sod moaned at me again.

Fetching the coke.

Much has been written about fetching the coke from the Gas works.

    From the age of ten I used to push a home made “barra” from Rocky Lane to either Nechells or Windsor Street, Both were a swine, as coming back it was uphill with a full “barra” from both places.

    I usually went to Windsor Street, joined a bloody great queue and eventually got a ticket, which was pink. Funny how you can remember useless information! From memory I paid 2/2^d a Hundredweight. I then moved to the chute, where I held the sack under the chute, but not to the satisfaction of the bloke operating it. He gripped my hands hard and bawled “get it up higher” God it hurt. He was another miserable sod; they seemed to follow me about in those days.

    The kids of today don’t know what they’ve missed and just how lucky they are, but it made us tough and fit to deal with life.

 

THE DUST MAN

    They turned up on a Wednesday. So our neighbour did her washing on a Monday and my Mom on a Tuesday. This was because the Dust Men came up our entry and across the blue brick yard where the washing would have been hung out to dry. They carried an oval shaped galvanised bath tub with handles on both ends in which they tipped the ashes from the coal fires. Great when a wind blew as the ashes were blown everywhere as they carried the tubs on their heads to the dust cart. Even better if they were weaving their way through your washing! If they made a mess you swept it up, but that didn’t stop them from holding out their hand at Christmas for a tip. What a difference today with plastic bags and boxes!

 

THE GAS MAN

    A loud knock at the back door by a man dressed in weatherproof dark navy coat past the knees and a military style cap with a large rim had come to read and collect money from the meter in our cellar.      

Mom always looked forward to his visit as our meter always had more money in it than gas used. The meter took pennies but Mom used mainly shillings as she didn’t want her cooking ruined if the gas ran out.

    I was always intrigued to watch him put the coins on the table and flick them into pile, put them blue bags and into the very deep pockets of his overcoat. He would reimburse Mom for the overpayment.

    He was usually a tall fella, and on one occasion after my Dad had painted the cellar walls with white distemper he came up covered in white patches and streaks on his coat and with cobwebs on his hat from the low ceiling of the cellar. It didn’t seem to bother him as he went off to the next house looking the same. We couldn’t stop laughing. Make you wonder what they thought when he knocked their door.

 

THE INSURANCE MAN

    My Mom had the usual policies of the day, which were the Pru. and Liverpool Vic. On a Friday she would put the books with the money on the end o he sideboard opposite the backdoor. The blokes usually turned up about tea time, just knock the back door and walk in, collect the money say Tarra and go. You could have been having a bath in front of the fire, but it was always the same, knock and come in. wouldn’t happen today would it.

 

THE MILKMAN

    Although a lifelong member of the Co-op, number 98161, my Mom had her milk from Midland Counties dairy. She always had full cream Pas’ as she couldn’t stand Stera’. Later in life when my family went on to skimmed and semi-skimmed milk, my Mom’s reaction was I’m not drinking that  bloody stuff cos’ when  I worked on the farm we used to give it to the pigs. She didn’t do too badly as she died aged Eighty still drinking her beloved full cream and Jersey gold top. What a woman!

 

THE POSTMAN

     Our regular postman was a very pleasant smartly dressed man with highly polished boots and looked as if he was going on parade. He wore thick lenses in his glasses and as a kid I thought he looked like an owl. Unlike today, he was always early in the morning, before I went to school, and when it was my birthday he’d bang on our back door and say   “Happy Birthday  Gerald”. Just like today, I don’t think.  Your  Birthdays nearly over by the time you get your

cards these days. Pubic service? What Public service. 

 

THE RENT MAN

    He would arrive weekly, collect the money and sign the Rent book. The rent was always my Mom and Dads first priority and they never missed a payment from 1936 to 1990, an impeccable record to be proud of.  

    It was always drilled into me to always pay your rent to keep a roof over your head. So when I was married in 1962, I did just that, until I was fortunate to buy a house for us in 1964.

    Of course most of the working class didn’t have bank accounts in the Thirties, forties and fifties to pay the rent as they were for the posh and for business people.

    My Dad always felt subservient. You would never get him through the door at Barclays Bank and only with a push into the Birmingham Municipal Bank although they had an account there. I still have the strong steel money box today.

    It was the way in which my Dad had been brought up, doff your cap and know your place. He got better with age, but at times it was always there. I told him that he was a far better person than those who pretended to be superior to him and it showed as he was well respected at work as he became President of the Local Railway Welfare fund. He was a kind man, loved a pint and a singsong, was never violent, worked damned hard and a Dad to be proud of.

 

THE SWEEP

    About every three months my Mom would book the sweep to do the back room chimney. It always fascinated me when he put his rods through a small hole in a cloth screwed the brush on and covered up the grate hole. He would then shove it up the chimney and send me outside to see whether the brush was sticking out of the top. When he had finished he would bag up the soot and we would put it on the rhubarb and other parts of the garden. I don’t know why because not a lot would grow in Nechells although we did have a nice red rambling rose.

    I remember one day my Mom said to Dad we need the sweep sooner rather than later. So one tea time Dad came home having had a few down the pub as he had finished work at dinnertime and was reminded about the sweep. Being an engine driver he just happened to have a couple of track detonators in his jacket pocket. He said never mind about paying for the sweep and as the fire was low he lobbed a detonator on the fire. It went off wallop and the bloody soot came down alright it went everywhere. We all looked like the black and white minstrels. My Mom went berserk as she had just black leaded the grate and her new hearth rug that she had just finished pegging was covered. Everything was took into the back yard to be cleaned. Of course we didn’t own a Vac in those days so it was the brush or nothing.

    The old man just laughed as it was the beer talking. It might have been funny but Mom certainly wasn’t talking to him.

    Happy days I wouldn‘t have missed them for anything.  

 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - o 0 o - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

                  Me Mom’s Bread Puddin’

 

Just like most things back when I was a kid growing up down the Old End just after the war bread never went to waste. My Mom just like most other mom’s back then used to save all the stale bread and when she had enough she used to make a bread pudding. Now, it was nothing like the mass produced rubbish you buy nowadays,  but proper thick spicy chunks, bulging with raisins and currants.

    One afternoon my dad who worked as a stoker on a boiler at F. W. Evans’s, plastic moulders in Long Acre walked up the works drive which was next to our house and took back with him a piece of bread pudding that my mom had just taken out of the oven.

    When he got back to the boiler house his mate Charlie Jones the foreman moulder was there and he said “What you got there Jim”. Charlie asked for a bit and my dad said have this and I’ll go and get another piece.  Charlie went back to the moulding shop where he in turn was asked what he’d got by one the moulders, who later on when he saw my dad said “next time your missus makes a bread pudding can I have a bit as well”.

     In the end my mom was making a small bread pudding for the Kirby family and one in the meat tin that she used to cook the Sunday roast in for dads mates at work. She would cut it up into individual chucks which were wrapped in grease-proof paper and then newspaper.  Dad would then collect these and hand them out to the lucky ones.     

      Winter or summer there was nothing more welcoming that coming home from school to the smell of me moms bread pudding.

                           John Kirby. 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                          Schools                                                                                                                             

                                     

There was a church school at Ashted in 1828, which stayed open for 32 years. Until after the 1870 Act all schools were denominational: those in Legge and Lawley Streets were opened in 1839 and 1850, and three were started in 1868- St. Joseph's R.C., St. Lawrence's C.E., and St. Matthew's (re-named St. Anne's) C.E. The Birmingham School Board needed to provide buildings to educate many thousands of children: their schools in Duddeston and Nechells, with opening dates, were:- Bloomsbury (Lingard Street), the very first Board School in the Borough, with places for 1059 children (1873), Windsor Street (1874), Dartmouth Street (1876), Grosvenor Street (1877), Eliot Street (1879), Loxton Street (1883), and Cromwell Street (1889).

Birmingham Education Committee superseded the Board and took over its schools in 1902: only Nechells Park Road (1904) and Charles Arthur Street Schools (1911) were new requirements in districts fully developed and with a declining popu-lation. St. Vincent's R.C. School was built in 1931, its teachers being nuns from the Convent in Great Brook Street. Reorganisation after the 1944 Act brought changes of name and function to many schools.

Eliot Street Primary

School

 

Re-development has swept away all but two - Eliot Street (Nechells Sec. and J.I.) and Cromwell Street J.I. Cromwell Street Board School was opened by the Birmingham School Board in 1889 with accommodation for over a thousand pupils. The school was damaged by a German bomb during World War 2 and the building was then used as a civic restaurant until 1951 when it became a junior and infant school. Hutton Street (now Eliot Street) Board School, opened in 1879, was designed to accommodate over a thousand children. Renamed Nechells Board School in 1897, the school was enlarged a number of times and reorganised in 1930 into senior, junior and infant departments. Due to overcrowding in 1954 in this densely populated area, additional accommodation was provided for the primary school in the Presbyterian Church on Long Acre. Nechells Primary School continues to use this fine Victorian gothic-style building with its red terracotta and square tower.