Thanks you guys, but it,s not over yet, have we got a fat lady in the audience please? Still got some more to go yet.
This is me aged four probably, in Auntie Louies
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Thanks you guys, but it,s not over yet, have we got a fat lady in the audience please? Still got some more to go yet.
This is me aged four probably, in Auntie Louies
Quote:
Originally Posted by robbo176
Why thanks Mand ;)
Quote:
Originally Posted by Ged
Ha Ha now I know what a ventriloquist's dummy feels like :PDT_Piratz_26:
All i can say is brilliant Chippie:handclap::handclap::handclap::handclap:
Thank you Tony, It,ll be in the News of the World one of these days mate, ha ha:)
I remember the day that I started going to school, Heyworth County Primary. Going up Heyworth Street in my grey shorts and new brown sandals, holding my gran,s hand. I wasn,t scared like some of the other new starters who were crying and having their tears wiped away by concerned mums. I was looking forward to playing and mixing with new friends. I went into the little hallway which served as an assembly point in the mornings, sitting cross legged listening to Mrs. Fisher, who I first thought was one of the girl,s teachers. We never saw the girls at all during our time at the school as they were segregated from us before, during and after, school.
My teacher at the infants was a Miss Wakeman who I liked. We played with plasticene and sand and had rides on our class rocking horse. In the next class a year later, I remember making a paper mache model of a road system with zebra crossings, lamposts and pavements, and little cars were placed on the roadway, and I played with them all morning. I had my first accident in this class running around in the playground I fell over and broke a bone in my little finger of my left hand. I wore a sling for two weeks after.
The next year I was in Mrs. Fisher,s class. I don,t remember much about her other than she was a bit sharp and we were all wary of her. Then there was Mr. Narva and Mr. Drew who was a bit of a stern bugger who loved using the cane. Then there was Miss Lovat who was a well rounded lady who just loved pulling up one of your trouser legs and slapping you hard on the fleshy thigh. She was well worth avoiding when you did something wrong. And finally came Mr. Jones who was a bit of a dodderer but could get right bad tempered and turn quit nasty. Mr. Masheter was our headmaster at the school and not having had him for any lessons, didn,t know what he was like.
There was a play centre at this school for two hours every night with about four or five teachers on duty overseeing us kids playing games of draughts, chess, snakes and ladders, art, games in the hall underneath the school next to the swimming pool which also was used once or twice a week. These teachers must have been very patient and long suffering to work such hours each week. It was in the pool one time when I thought I,d override my fear of water, and try introducing myself to it. I was walking about dithering and splashing a bit try to get used to the gasping feeling of the water getting higher and higher as I gingerly sidled about, when all of a sudden I was pulled under the water and gasped and splashed about in desperate fear, coming up I started moaning and groaning and made my way to the nearest bar round the pool, which happened to be at the deep end, and franticly hauled myself out, much to the amusement of the other kids. I was told to go and get dressed, and not in a sympathetic tone either. I put my glasses on to see who had done such a callous prank on me, and there laughing his blonde haired fat face at me was that little monster from up the entry in our street, Steven, who years before had whacked me with a muddy rope while I was in my go chair. I wanted far away from him as possible so got dressed and ran home.
Two "accidents" in my trousers I remember while at Heyworth Street School. I was so in pain one day that I put my hand up and asked the teacher if I could go to the toilet and the pain in my face must have been evident as she ushered me on my way with waves of her hand. Running across the yard in the playground where the toilets were I cried and made a mess of myself. So instead of going I ran all the way home and cried in fear and embarassment to my nan. This happened in the first two years in the infant section of my education, while the next "accident" was when I was ten in the juniors. It was Miss. "slappy Lovat,s class. I put up my hand to ask permission to go and she ignored me as she was in full stream of a story about something or other which to her was more important than my tummy pains. I started sqirming and uttering quite noises but she refused say something like that there was only twenty minutes left to go in the lesson, I could surly hang on till then. I hung on as long as I could and then...gush...At the end of the lesson I darted out of the room as fast as I could go and left Miss. Lovat the consequences of her refusal. Nothing was ever said about this incident.
Some of the lads in my class in the junior school were Alan Roberts, Alan Rose, John Beesley, Chris Felton, who I believe last time I heard worked in a solicitor,s office; Norman Holmes?, Dennis Higham and Roy Williams. I have since had a photograph sent to me of a class picture with some of these lads on. Some went onto the senior school with me while the rest went to other various schools in the vicinity. I took two eleven plus exams in two different regions because I had a spell in another school in Huyton when the social services got "the family" together for the first time. More about that later when the social services let me in on my early life that involved them.
The eleven plus exam was a test to see had you any chance of being brainy and could go to college or a better educational unit. Good God if I had have been brainy enough to go to college, my guardian, my nan, would have had a screaming blue fit because she wouldn,t have been able to buy me a uniform or any of the trimmings that would have been needed in a better school than the secondary modern that I was destined to go. Apart from the usual uniform, there would have been sports clothes, shirt, shorts and shoes and stockings each year. Also football or rugby gear as well as a good satchel or schoolbag instead of the dufflebag that I took to Prince Rupert with me.
When I was ten I joined the St Benedict Church Choir, not that I felt religious or anything, but it did pay 7/6d about 41p) a month, which was a cool profit for singing like a scalded cat at someones wedding. Needless to say that I only lasted a month, got my 7/6d and left before they found out where the scalded cat was located.
I borrowed Brian Bennett,s bike one night after school rode up our street across the main road into Kepler Street and down over the hump in the road going full throttle at six miles an hour when I found that there was no brakes. I crashed at the bottom of the hill into the raillings next to the Police Station where I was hauled in and had a dressing put on two cuts. One on my split forehead and the other on my right leg. I was whizzed by ambulance with flashing light to the children,s hospital in Myrtle Street where I was more concerned with the little sore on my leg that the dirty big gash that was being stitched on my forehead. I lay there till my Auntie Kitty came to pick me up and take me home. Her being the only one available with any money to get the bus and bring me back on the bus.
I went into assembly late next morning, the day after my accident. Limping down the back steps as the kids were singing a hymn. They all turned to look at me on entering with a bandage round my head and another round my leg. I was the talk of the class all that morning untill they found out how I did it.
Although I was not allowed to leave the street I usually ended up in one of the parks or playground areas within a mile or two of our street. The nearest one was Rupert Lane swing park, which meant crossing Heyworth Main Road which was something really taboo for me. The park in the summer had a punch and judy show in a railled off enclosure which you had to pay 1d (1/2p today) None of us could afford this payment so we stayed outside the raillings and saw and heard it all for nothing. There was also a park attendant here whose job it was to keep the park clean and tidy, and to chase people off the grass. There were signs in all the parks before the 70s to "keep off the grass) We called these attendants "cocky watchmen" after the men who used to look after building sites after the war. The were to make sure nobody pinched the materials and keep playing kids away from the dangerous grounds. Each night they would be found around a roaring fire to keep warm during the colder nights.
When we were in the swing park and swinging high or up the ladder on the slide, we could see into the top storey of the police station of Everton Terrace. We used to pull faces at the policemen working there. The windows looked as bad as my nan,s back ones, could have done with a good clean.
While I was going to Heyworth Street School I remember the death,,already mentioned in my story, of my grandad. He used to come to the house now and again all dirty and whiskers as if he needed a shave. He wore a long dark overcoat that reeked of ciggarette smoke. I,m not sure why he didn,t live at home in the house I was being brought up in as he used to. I think it had something to do with the fact that I saw him kicking my gran and making her legs bleed once. She used to cry in bed of a night when I was sleeping with her. I did too because she was. I remember, Charlie smoked rolled up ciggies and I watched him making them from old stumps he found in the street. Although grandad was absent from the house, when he took ill once, grandma would go to the hospital in the freezing cold and snow blizzards, when she could get the fare to go from somebody. More often than not I would go too as there wasn,t anybody to look after me. It was a long way to Fazackely Hospital and two buses. I wasn,t allowed in the wards in those days being a child. I would sit in a room and read a magazine, well look at the pictures. One night nan came back crying after being away a long time. I asked her what was the matter as I was always upset when grandma cried, I felt afraid and insecure in case I was to go away to someone else to live. "Grandad,s dead." she replied weeping into the grubby piece of rag that once lay on our bed keeping us both warm. On the way home, red eyed, she couldn,t contain herself and must have been thinking of the days together when gran and grandad were happy together. I asked her later how grandad had died and she was quite graphic about it. "He bled from his eyes, his mouth, his ears and his nose, of cancer," she squarked. I was frightened and stayed quiet, thinking my own thoughts, the rest of the way home.
Superb memories to share mate. Thank you.:PDT11
Brilliant Chippie, keep them coming :handclap:
Chippie,
I,m sitting here thinking of that little lad in the waiting room,waiting for news of his Granddad.......................you may have been living in poverty,but you had a lot of love in that old Nan of yours.Your words bring her alive,thanks for sharing those precious moments,
BrianD
You gentlemen are too kind, thank you for your support and response.
As the next one will bring me up to my second school ages from 11 to 15 I must leave my story there for awhile as I intended only to write about my childhood. When I left school at the age of 15 I became the one and only wage earner at home for awhile and so my story must go to the adult stage, which I,ve not prepared to write about just yet.
On saying that I may go backwards a bit and tell about a more recent time in my life when I was working for the mod in Liverpool and the friends I made there.
:hug:
The Guy Family who lived in the end house on our side consisted of the mother and father, Maggie and Billy, and their five kids, Arthur, Jean, Leslie, Margaret and Stephen. Another brother, Tommy, lived opposite them on the other side of the street in number 42 with his wife, Barbara, and their kids, Tommy Jnr., Raymond and Julie. There was enough kids to these two families to play with the rest of us kids in Dessy. The two around my age group were Stephen and Tommy who I associated with more than anyone else in the street.
I remember one day playing outside between our house and Lily Emery,s house next door. We were playing "house," which was a few sheets off someone,s bed turned into a tent. I was the dad, Margaret was the mum, and Lily and Stephen were our kids. There was no water to make a pot of tea so I peed in four cups, which was convenient at the time because I didn,t want to go in to use the toilet. I said to the rest, "Come on let,s have our tea," and we raised our cups. The rest thought that I,d got some lemonade and gulped theirs down whilst I only sipped at mine to see what pee tasted like. There were coughs and splutters all round and shouts of "Oh you dirty get!" And I wasn,t flavour of the month for a week or so after that little escapade.
Margaret said that to drink ones pee was awful and that you would die if you didn,t eat meat right away. She always seemed to know about these things. So I legged it into our house to see if there was any meat around. Ha, meat in our house was like saying there,s snow in hell. Fortunately for me and my longevity that day, there was a couple of cold chops from my uncles tea the day before and I managed to to beg one of these from my nan telling her how hungry I was. I came back out and finished playing with my friends and stayed out until after my uncle came home looking for one of his chops that was for his tea today. There was a bit of an argument about it apparently but it blew over quite quickly. and I lived to see another day.
Another time with the Guys and Lily we were playing "hide and seek." Stephen, Margaret and I were hiding in the flats at the bottom of our street where we had full view of the length of Dessy from one of the stairwell windows. I climbed up onto the sill to open the top part of the frosted window, and my new glasses fell off my nose and crashed to the stone floor and smashed. I was especially upset as I wasn,t to wear them until the first day back at school, which was the following week, but I was so sick of my taped up old ones, I,d put my new ones on. Nan would go mad if she knew I,d worn them for playing out. I went home and swopped them in the case for my old ones. The following week while getting ready for school and my new class, I got my glasses case from the drawer in the sideboard, and, while putting my coat on I "accidentally dropped" my glasses case containing my new specs, onto the floor. Opening them up we "discovered that they were broken" and I would have to wear my old ones until I could get the new ones mended. I was a right scheming swine in those days. I think I had a degree in "How to hookwink my nan."
On another occassion, Stephen and I went for a walk, well an adventure really, and ended up a very long way from home, well it was for two little ten year old lads. We had walked to Great Homer Street and across the very busy dual carriageway towards Scotland Road. Thinking that Scotland Road was very nearly in Scotland and we had walked enough already, we just looked around the street we happened to find ourselves in, and would head back home. We came across a huge desserted yard that looked as if it had housed animals in it as there were bits of straw around and animal droppings. There were large metal hoops halfway up the wall with thick ropes hanging from these. In one corner of the cobbled yard was a huge wooden structure suspended on two wooden beams coming out of the wall. We both climbed up the wooden ladder about seven or eight feet high and went into the room.
There was evidence of pigeons in there, all over the floor was droppings and feathers, and the smell was not very nice. Uninterested in this structure, I climbed down from the far side of the building and went to nose around the rest of the yard in more interesting corners. I heard a terrific rumble and shout behind me and turned to see the pigeon loft upside down on the floor and heard Stephen screaming in fear on the inside. I ran over to get inside to see him crouched in one corner. I lifted him up and scrambled with him outside of the loft and found that his foot had been damaged and he could hardly walk.
It had appeared that when I had got out of the loft his weight had overbalanced the whole thing and it had slid off the beams and toppled over.
We made our way with great difficulty to the nearest hospital I knew which was called " The John Bagot Hospital" in Netherfield Road North. We rang the bell outside as the main door was closed and a man came to see what we wanted. After explaining what had happened and what difficulty we were in, he told us that there was nothing he could do to help and that we would have to go to the children,s hospital towards town or "The Royal" which was a little nearer, but still miles away. So we started off to walk/drag ourselves to town and another hours pain for Stephen. We got there eventually and we were there yet another hour before Stephen came away with a badly sprained ankle and he had to stay off it for awhile. When he got home yet another hour away there was commotion in both our households that we had "gone out of the street and look what happened," and was never to do it again.
Another time in the street the older lads were playing cricket. I not wanting to interupt their game went round the back of the batsman as he made a swing for the ball, which he hit for six and the momentum of the bat struck me on the side of the temple knocking me over and out of the way. About half an hour later there was a lump as big as an egg on my forehead, where before I had cracked it open on my bicycle crash. The lump stayed there for about three weeks.
One fine evening I was sitting on the pavement outside our front door playing with some toy cars. Uncle Ronnie came down our lobby doing an "Alex Young" with a plastic baby,s bottle belonging to my little cousin Sheila, and took a side kick to it with his left foot kicking it towards me and shouting for a goal. Not being too bright in how to handle the situation, I just sat there and took the bottle in the face smashing my glasses. I,m good at this glasses smashing lark.
I could feel an irritation in my eye and had to be taken once again to the children,s hospital to be examined for splinters in my eye. Luckily none were found and I was back home a couple of hours later.
Only one more time do I remember going to the Children,s hospital and that was the time I felt that I had a fish bone stuck in my throat after eating fish and chips. Along I went with my nan, stuck there waiting to be seen, and, eventually having a long metal spatula type instrument plunged down my throat making me gag all the time. The doctor said that he couldn,t see anything down there and sent us on our way home again.
What its like being a child with all the ups and downs and ins and outs of doing childish things. What happy memories one has.........
Chippie mate.
I always said that life comes in four stages :-
(1) Childhood
(2) Teenage years
(3) Adult Hood
(4) Senility (my age).
Could be four chapters in a very good book BUT (as always) we will have to wait a long time for your Chapter Four. :)
Phredd
I don,t know about waiting that long Phredd, I,ve been senile for years mate. ha ha. keep taking the pills. hic
To go forward with my memories I,ve been forced to go backwards a bit. I,ve received the long awaited social services file on me from way back in the 1950s when I was unaware what was happening and why I ended up in the care of my grandmother who was my age now when she took me and my little sister on. Talk about "Her Benny" which used to bring tears to my eyes when my gran used to tell me the story often when I couldn,t get to sleep. Since getting these documents I ,ve been reflecting on my life and my heart and brain has been crying even though the physical tears never came. I haven,t yet sent copies of these documents to my family so this could come as a bit of a shock to many of my cousins over the next few weeks. Over last weekend I had my cousin from Runcorn over to go for a meal and a talk on the family tree and I let them look through the documents and my memories that I,d wrote down in these columns. You could hear a pin drop when the revelations came out of those pages; And the tears flowed afterwards.
The story went that I was taken along with my brother and sister to Rathbone hospital and that we were to be transferred to Olive Mount Children,s home section because nobody came to visit us. We had whooping cough, we were sickly and undernourished, we were ill, and there was nobody to come to see us; nobody cared; nobody loved us; nobody wanted to know wether we lived or died.
My report states that I had to have a t.b. test as my mother had active tuberculosis at that time. I had the test on 11.12.1955. I presume too that my two siblings would have to have the same tests, but I don,t know, I am only privvy to my case. I was to have a b.c.g. needle and would have to attend a chest clinic for a while
There is a note that the social services were active on my/our case as early as February 1955 as I have a letter from "THE CHILDRENS COMMITTEE" stating that they were looking to have me immunised. On the same date there is a form which my mother signed stating that I was in the care of the Liverpool Authority at that time. I was three years old for Christ,s sake and I was in care because my mother didn.t want me; What did I do to be given over to the local authority, were my brother and sister in the same plight I wonder. The form goes on to say that although my mum gave me away, she didn,t approve of me going to a foster family with a view to me being legally adopted, although I could be moved into a private foster home at anytime at the discretion of the children,s committee.
And then there was the copy of a handwritten letter my dad, whom I loved so deeply in my childhood days, not knowing anything about what went on behind the fascade of his welcoming face at the times I saw and wanted his fatherly care and reassurances that I thought I had.
the letter reads;
13.9.1955
Dear Sir,
Could you please advise me on how to get my children in a Liverpool Children,s home. My wife is unable to care for them and they have been in the care of my mother since march, but now, owing to her health she can no longer manage them and I have no other relatives who can help me
Yours truely,
Chippie,s dad
Reading this from an adults view, dad was in the middle of a crisis between his wife, my mother and his mother, my grandmother who was forced to take in his children from going back into care, and was not coping well with the situation. But to ask for us all to be put into a home........when would we see our parents again? Would they soon forget us and we become victims of being institutionalised? Would we lose our love for our parents? Would they care? Would we care? It was coming up to Christmas and we three kids would be travelling afar, away from our homes, from the people who made us but didn,t really want to look after us.
Another letter from my father was sent a week after the first letter, and a little more desperate this time ending with;
"Would you please help or advise me in getting the children placed in the care of a home in Liverpool.
oblige,
Chippie,s dad.
Then the children,s officer,s memo to Brougham Terrace,s children,s welfare committee.
Dear Sir, Chippie
his sister
his brother
With reference to your letter of 28th Feb, I look forward to your information and copy of my officer,s report on an interview with the father of the above named.
yours faithfully,
county children,s officer.
And then the officer,s report on my dad.
31.3.1955
I interviewed Chippie,s dad and he told me that his mother has Chippie and his sister and he pays her 30/- a week for their care. The eldest child is with the maternal grandmother and he pays £3 to his wife who pays the grandmother something out of this for Chippie,s brother,s maintenance. As Chippie,s dad is only earning just over £5 per week, this leaves him 10/- a week to go to Liverpool to see the children each week. Chippie,s dad intends to keep up these payments in the interests of the children as he does not wish them to be taken into care and placed in a home. He told me that he was willing to do anything for the children short of going back to his wife and his wife,s relatives; Under no circumstances would he do this."
The letter goes on to say that the officer interviewed my dad,s superior who upholds the wages and gave my dad a good report.
and another report from the welfare committee about an interview with my mum saying that my mum was prepared for us kids to go into care but now they are being provided for by repective parents, but regular weekly payments must be made for the children,s upkeep and to maintain his wife too.
and a report about an interview with my dad,s mam.
Chippie,s gran is willing to care for Chippie and his sister but she is in possession of a numberof liableous letters from the children,s mother. When Chippie,s dad came home at the weekend she told him if the letters don,t stop she would have to review the care of his children. The children are fond of her and her of the children and I am sure that she would not let them go.
She also intimated that the children,s family allowence was still being drawn by their mother and retained by her.
One last document seems to be a memo from an officer saying that "Chippie,s dad is shirking away from his resposibilities "
Well there you have what I got back after a fight to get them from the social services. A mixed bag of feelings and a melting pot of emotions.
We three kids ended up fostered out so to speak with family most of the time, but my two siblings did go into a home in Yorkshire, all that way and I couldn,t see them. I don,t know how often my dad went to see them, they don,t talk about their care in the home, maybe I can get it out of them bit by bit before one of us dies, and maybe not.
To be continued.................:hug:
Chippie,
I had to keep reminding myself that you were writing of something that took place in the mid 20th century and not,as it seemed,in the time of Charles Dickens.The fact that you have come through all of that and are still sane gives us the measure of your character. You, my friend, have within you a story to make "Her Benny" look like something scripted by Disney.
SIT DOWN AND WRITE IT NOW!!!! We are all waiting ,
Regards,
BrianD
Cheers Brian, I will. I will, sometime. Thanks mate
aaaaaw Chippie mate, thats very sad. i feel for you mate.
You are so brave putting it all down, good luck with it all.
Tony
Thanks Tony, I put it down for the record because I,ve been lied to all my life about my life. Now it,s down there can be no lies anymore, no legends about certain persons being the salt of the earth, and no more covering over the cracks in life,
Will be watching out for you Tony, cheers:hug:
Ok so I didn't pass my two chances at the eleven plus. I was such a mediocre pupil at Heyworth Street School and I can truly say that my school life there was happy and trouble free. I was going to miss the school and half of the kids I grew up with from all round the area, but I wasn,t to know this yet untill well after the six weeks holidays that were looming up. Finishing junior school was a milestone in my life, already the first ten years of my life was over. What would become of me, would I be working, get married, live like the rest of the neighbours in our street? Us kids would discuss these topics as we sat around on the big removal like van parked on the oller at the bottom of our street.
I remember my gran telling me stories of the war years from her point of view. About how that our school was used as an air raid shelter and how they,d had to run all that way up Heyworth Street to get to it. I remember thinking at the time that by the time they got there, there would be planes overhead watching you. In fact one of the stories repeated by a woman who lived in our area was that she was caught in Everton Road during an air raid and that a bomber followed her along the street and verred away from her back to the dockland area. I heard Dora Caseupton tell that story many times in her reminices of her life in later years. My gran used to tell me that my dad had climbed up onto the roof of our school to dislodge an incendiary bomb that had fallen on a full shelter of people. But whether that was a true story or one just to make me proud of my dad or reinforce her love for him, I,ll never know now.
The school holidays were spent in the best ways possible, playing in the entries and ollers and empty houses around our area. I remember several houses that were like gold mines to us kids. One was on the main road, Breck Road and had been stripped of copper wire and doors and fire places. We rooted around some of the junk that had been left and abandoned of life and we found trinkets and pens and documents of all descriptions including photographs of the relatives of those that had lived there. It seemed to me at the time why had these people left legacies of their lives to be pinched and pilfered like this. It seemed like those war films I,d seen on the flix of those people being hounded out of their homes and taken into concentration camps. But Liverpool was a far cry from life like that, why had these possessions been left? Upstairs the bedrooms had been stripped of floorboards and us kids walked across the beams from one wall to another and had great fun playing in that particular house. Then there was the house in Whitefield Road that had been abandoned and in the cellar there was all kinds of army gear all over the place, phones, dials, speakers and petrol cans. We thought that there may have been a shop upstairs where they sold these items or that the owner was a secret spy and had been taken in by the mi5 and this was why the house was empty. Then there was a house in Queens Road a large three story dwelling where we found a stack of "dirty books " but we didn,t know how to make a profit with these items so we just looked through them and went "ooooh" and "yak" and such meanial noises.
Well as I said before I failed the Liverpool Education Committee,s eleven plus and the one from Huyton where I was when the social services got us together as a family for a short time. But I did go to a senior school that I felt comfortable in with some of my mates from Heyworth Street, and we started out together on the road to adulthood.
The school was a sandy bricked affair built about 40s or early 50s. The pupils were sectioned off into competative houses, Scott, Livingstone, Drake and Hudson. I knew about the first three explorers or adventurists, but Hudson?! didn,t know him then or now for that matter. Scott was red, Livingstone yellow, Drake blue and Hudson green. The brainy lads always seemed to end up in Scott while the dimwits were all in Hudson. I selected the Livingstone house and was the house captain throughout my four years in Prince Rupert Secondary Modern School for Boys with two gates, one facing Mill Road where the famous hospital was situated at the end of the road and where twenty years later I was to work and enjoy ten happy years of service under the guise of civil servant. The other gated entrance was in Margaret Street, once well known for its baths where many an Everton son had used to get a good bath in as there we,re not many households with a bathroom in our township.
In the Livingstone House were John Bennett who had become my cousin when my Uncle Albert married his sister Kitty. The whole family had flaming red hair and John was no exception. He was a crackin, lad and always game for a laugh as was Paul Breen and his mischievious grin, Raymond Culshaw who lived next to our old school in Heyworth Street, Tommy Evans a qieter, football crazy Liverpool enthusiast and his mate Billy Milner, Raymond McMahon another flaming redhead who later was to be my neighbour in St Georges Heights about five years later. Bringing up the last member of Livingstone House was a tall lad with ruddy cheeks, and his name was Robert Armstrong.
I,ll have to leave the story here this time as there are four ambulancemen and a cines boxer dog called neddy knocking on the fanlight window. :eek:
Chippie.
I've just read this thread from start to finish.
I don't know how I missed it before.
It was difficult to read at times because of the tears.
If it's any consolation, you were probably better being brought up surrounded by people who did love you, rather than being put into a clinical loveless Children's Home.
In the Scott House was Kenny Alward who would have been better placed in the Hudson House as he let the house down many times, he was always up for a laugh though. Robert Banks loved his football and looked a right tough nut but was a nice lad really. Then there was my mad mate Albert Boyd who used to live in Everton Terrace and had a brother a year or so his senior. He was a smashing laugh but liked Peter Cook and Dudley Moor stuff which I just couldn,t stand when I was in my early teens. We use to hang around together a lot and if there was anything to laugh about you,d find Albert amongst the best of them. I met him in the early 70s when I was living in St Georges Heights and I nearly walked passed him in street; He was sporting a huge mop of afro style hair and a shrunken orange jumper that showed off his belly button, I couldn,t believe that this image was my best mate not a decade before. Talk about the David Bowie style wasn,t in it at all, I was gobsmacked, but he would have been better on the cover of the music album "Hair." Dennis Higham was a quieter, fun loving lad who had no side to him at all and lived on the left side of Heyworth Street in a small back street.
Robert Jacobs was the talk of the class right from the start as he was the most endowed male anyone in our class had ever seen before even at the tender age of eleven. He was to become the captain of our school in the final year, well he would wouldn,t he? while I was his second in command as school vice captain, well I would, wouldn,t I? Robert was a lovely lad, quiet, clean and smart always and the perfect gentleman a school ever had. He and his brother Barry who had a shock of red hair lived in Caird Street. Barry was a year Rob,s junior. I remember that Robert gave me a chemistry set once as a present and I blew a test tube of chemicals up in my bedroom in Dessy. There was such a mess on the wall but it wasn,t noticed amongst all the other mess. Robert and Barry went on to do well in life. Robert is married with two children and has a great career ahead and behind him whilst Barry holds a position in Liverpool that I wouldn,t like to meet in his official capacity.
Paul Kerr was another misplaced middle class lad in our form, but he only stayed a year or so and was off to better climes I thought. George Taylor was a smashin, lad with a goofy smile that reminded me of "Plug" in the Beezer or Topper or one of those comics. And then there was Roy Williams who was the Scott House mascot who should have been in Hudson too. It was in Roy,s house I was first taken when I went down Kepler Street with no brakes on my bike a year or so before. I still have the scars on my knee and forehead as a silent witness to that awful accident.
The Drake House consisted of Barry Cain who I remember swapping stamps with in our first Year, but he never followed us into the second year for some reason. David Connell who lived in Reservoir Street on my route to school and went to live in Cantril Farm in the sixties when his house came up for copulsary purchase by the council. Kenny Culshaw, no relation to Ray in our house, was a small dark haired lad who one sunday went over to New Brighton with me and mooched along the prom and visited the lighthouse and fort. David Grogan was another of my classmates who lived along my route to school and whom I called for now and again when I felt like it. Frank and David Owens, although not related were very good friends together. David was the son of a Liverpool Councillor. In the first or second year he and I fell out for some reason on the playing field in Dwerryhouse Lane and he gave me a punch in the face. I can,t remember what it was all about but we got over it. Robin Murphy was in todays streetspeak, one cool dude who went around in dark sunglasses. He had a celebrity presence about him. He had a pet snake and fed it a live mouse in front of me once, for this reason I kept him at arms length from then on and his presence faded in my eyes. Keith Ramsden was a character always a wide beaming smile on his face and a friendly open personality. George Wilkes was the last person in Drake House and a cousin of the Bennett Familt that lived over the road from me in Dessy. I,ve since contacted him on Friends Reunited and he drinks in the British Legion with my Uncle Bob and only just found out he was related to me.
The Hudson House had all the dross of the class when brains were given out. Where Scott had all the bright sparks - Hudson had all the dim wits. Tommy Jones was tall and lanky and when he got stripped for showers - looked like a nude pin. He also had a body odour like baked beans. Tony Merret was oriental in appearance who always had an item of something to swop with someone. He reminded me of a "fagin type" character who was out "to do business" with everyone. I got a pair of dark blue swimming trunks from him one time, don,t know what I swopped him for them, probably my gran,s false teeth that she only used to seal the crusts on mince pies she made at Christmas. Although I had these trunks for a few years at school they were very itchy and were meant for a bigger person than me in many ways and areas. Danny Peters was the son of a building contractor from Rupert Lane ( lived in Rupert Lane and went to Prince Rupert School) He was quite a tall and beefy lad with a strange grin not unlike Bernie Winters the comedian, for those who remember him. Just looking at this guy brought tears to my eyes. Bringing up the last two souls in the Hudson House were twins Jimmy and Tommy Woods a sort of Kray Twins of Margaret Street. I was to see one of them or maybe a different one each time in the Liverpool Pub in James street many years later when I was working in the city centre in the early 1990s
Well that is the pupils of our class 1a in the first year of our Senior school. I wonder what another fellow pupil would say to describe me if he was doing a story like this. I can think of a few adjectives but I can only guess. Four eyes, freckle faced, freakish---- we will never know
Well a school can only be a school if there are teachers or masters so next time I,ll tell you about the real freaks in the school:PDT_Piratz_26:
Philip, I,ve pm ed you about this so as not to bare my soul in public. But I,m not afraid to cry if I,ve been hurt; And believe me I and my siblings have been hurt, and their story is far greater than mine, far sadder, I don,t know how they can smile knowing their past.
I can only give you a big hug Philip.:hug:
Once again Chippie you amaze me. you are so brave showing us all this, i am total hooked on your story.
I feel i must buy you are beer one day mate
Tony
Thanks Tony, the best part of my story is probably the childhood memories, but there is one part I,d like to share on her with you all about my adult life and it,s very sad. The last year or so of my working life in fact. Its for the not too distant future.
Cheers mate.:hug:
Our teacher Mr Postance was a right sight for sore eyes. To see him for the first time you had to rub your eyes to see if you actually was not imagining him. I mean after coming from a "normal" school with "normal" looking teachers
and then coming to Mr Postance for the first time was an incredable experience.
If I say he looked like Max Wall then that would give your imagination something to play with. Long hair red/fair hair, yellow corded drainpipe trousers, brown corded jacket with leather on the elbows and big black boots, well Coco the clown meets Mr Pecksniff down the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland. He had a habit of putting his tongue into his cheek when you were talking to him, and staring at you with big doleful eyes. And he wasn,t slim by any means of the word. This is the picture I,ve got after forty four years of last setting my eyes on the chap.
Now when you,ve laughed yourself silly and choked while hiccuping I must tell you what a smashing generous and gentle soul this teacher turned out to be. He was very fair in his dealings with us kids and treated us to the grammophone every now and again bringing with him from home, wherever that was, a rare and precious 78 inch record of his favourite composer or tune
I remember Peter and the Wolf being played and could be heard right along the upper corridor and down the stairs and into the foyer of the toilets once when I needed to go halfway through a particularly long rendition of his five best tunes.
His generousity to us kids had no bounds when he would buy for us a "jammie dodger" if we looked a bit hungry or sad that particular day. Now that was a nice twist to education a lad coming round with a tin of jammie dodgers for us kids to eat with our milk at only 1d each. I was to eat my way through many many many of those biscuits in the four years of my schooling at Prince Rupert Secondary Modern School for Boys, or Margy with a hard g. as we referred to it from the first day on. When through the ensuing years some of my fellow pupils would save up their pennies to buy "loosies" at the corner shop next to the playground, (a loosie being a loose ciggarette taken from a packet of five/ten/twenty wild woodbines) I and most of my pals would be spending our pennies on the moist, strawberry, salty yet sweet delights of the biscuit tin. And may I say in defence of my pals that there was not many lads in my class who did succumb to the dredded weed back in the early sixties. Alas, power in the guise of the vice captaincy of the school did bring me down when I confiscated a lads ciggarettes and told him that I wouldn,t report him in the punishment book but would smoke the ciggies myself. Thinking that this made me feel big and smart and grown up.
All good things come to an end of course and that includes good teachers, and one morning while waiting for our teacher to come into class we were instead visited by the head, Mr Williams; a very tall and grey looking and dressed man with a stern unfriendly and unwelcoming face to us "newbie" and scared looking frail schoolboys; And anounced that our loveable friendly teacher Mr Postance had passed away on the first January (1964) While in the first holiday, Christmas as well, of our first year.
Well we were astounded, gobsmacked and so very sad that this Dickens character of a smashing teacher had given up the Marley,s Ghost and left us poor weakling kids in the hands of the unknown. What had we done to the poor man to warrent an early death like this? were we that bad a rabble that were beyond teaching? Did we derserve to be flung to the mercey of the rest of the company of staff in Margy that some referred to as Teachers?
I can,t for the life of me remember who did take us for the rest of the term but according to my file and my report book it was a certain Eric Whitby who was a younger chap with mustache and grey sports jacket with leather elbow pads. Now we wondered if Mr Postance or Charlie, as he was affectionately known, bequeath those elbow patches to Eric or did Eric come from the same "teacher factory" as Charlie, one never knew. Mr Whitby reached the end of term with no points against him as he was only feeling his way amongst us at that period. So we broke up and had a brilliant summer holiday and started back to school refreshed and yearning to go a step nearer to being old hands in the school
Now going back, we knew that we were not the newbies any more so we could play tricks on the new intake just as we had tricks played on us, like, head down the toilet if we looked cute or soft or stupid. I wouldn,t dare do such a thing myself I,d be too scared the newbie would turn the tables and put my head down the bowl instead, I was such a weedy boy in my grey shorts and black blazer and black front scraped shoes.
Our new teacher was Eric Whitby again and under his leadership my english exam results shot up to a considerable good mark. And the second year whizzed through without much mishap or of any noticeable misfortunes by any of us pupils or teachers. One of my recollections with Eric Whitby was that I asked him to type a forward for a very long composition I,d written after seeing a film at the flix. I was a very impressionable child back in the 60s, I still am today my granmother would argue. Anyway after a week or two I kept asking Mr Whitby had he typed my forward that I had written out for him, and he would reply to the negative each time. Until one day as I was reading a passage in a book, he placed a piece of typed paper on the top of my desk and silently walked off back to his desk and put his head into the Financial Times or Titbits or some other notorious publication. I read the forward I had written and looked up at him in bewilderment. His typed forward was not in straight lines and most of it was spelt wrong. At the end f the lesson I went to him and asked him about it and he just smirked and said that it was what I,d asked him to do and he,d done it. I thought he was mad or something, I couldn,t put that in my composition as a project. We went out and went to our next lesson which was on the same corridor and in the last classroom. We sat down to maths with another Mr Williams and as we sat there for a minute or two, Mr Williams called me out and said he had a message for me. I went to his desk and he handed me a piece of paper on which was written the typed out forward I,d asked Mr Whitby to do for me. Mr Williams told me that someone had left it for me, did I understand? "Yes sir" I beamed, and went back to my seat delighted.
Chippie, very descriptive. Brought a lot of memories of the area, Thank you.
Well Actually Higgins I will put a descriptive walk to school in just for you, from my humble abode through to Margy Street. I remember the walk so well past all the different homes and houses in all the various streets and past the big blocks of sandstone that was the reservoir with its bowling green at the top over the water tanks. What I,d give to take that walk again and smell those smells and try and pick my way through thick pea soupers of fog and the thick deep snowdrifts in winter.:hug:
My school leavers certificate and my class photo prior to leaving. I,ve been advised not to point out the well endowed lad as the others would look inferior against him.:ninja:
Now it,s about time you all knew my name and I,m fourth front from right.:hug:
Yet another Kev ! :unibrow:
I,ve just realised I,ve been on Yo for nearly twelve months now and I haven,t been told to shut up! That must be a Liverpool first!!!!!!!!!
Quote:
Originally Posted by chippie
SHUT UP !
Only kiddin' I like reading your posts.
Once again brilliant reading Chippie:handclap:
Well done Chippie but I take exception to your headmaster claiming your appearance is always excellent :rolleyes:
Another enjoyable read Kevin,how much did you pay the headmaster for that report? Only joking ,keep it up you're making a lot of people happy
BrianD
P.S. Did you get my p.m. last week?
Hey Gedrick, wadderyou mean, you aint seen me in the flesh yet! so how do you know!!!!!:hug:
In Mr Whitby,s class I started doing better. English went from me being 18th in class to 4th in class and maths, well I was a right tinhead in arithmetic. I did,nt know my times tables at all except the five times table which was easy. Other subjects I was interested in and not bad at was German language and science. Physical Education was always a nonstarter with me, I was next to useless in the gym and nearly broke my neck trying to do a somersault on the trampoline and I could never get to the end of walking across the beam. Mind you I did get to see the gym teachers naughty bits when he asked me to hold his legs straight whilst showing the class a handstand. Mr Hardon (didn,t) was his name and was small in all senses of the word.
John Schober was one of the young teachers at the time who took us for science and I loved this topic and took a steady interest throughout the four years in school. I think it helped a lot ifyou could get on with the teacher and liked them and not be scared of them like Ted Makin in the third year. Uncle Ronnie warned me about him. He was a very strict teacher who liked to use the cane a lot and put the fear of God into his pupils.
It was after the summer of 1966 that we were all dreading going back to school to be in Ted,s class. Ted the Terrible, a slight balding man with a half halo of slipped hair round his neck who always wore the same blue suit since we started school till we finished four years later. We were all trembling as we went into class for the first time and we were still trembling when we left for the last time a year later. I got caned a few times in his class but he instilled in me a sort of discipline that at least made me learn my times table and get even better English results.
Life was pretty grim in this period. I couldn,t bring any friends back to our house with the state it was in and they wouldn,t have been allowed in anyway. Any bonds I had made with other pupils had to be either in school and remain in school or go to their house or back to Heyworth Street School,s play centre and socialise there instead.
We started going on trips out in the third year. One day we went to see "The Mikado" operetta in the Royal Court Theatre which not only got us out of the stuffy classroom but showed us a bit of culture of Japan. It turned out to be a very enjoyable day out by me anyway. Most of the other lads didn,t appreciate it as it didn,t have a football in it, or was too prissy, but I followed it quite well and was uplifted by it at the end. I can still remember songs from it now. We went twice I think it was to the Philharmonic Hall to hear various pieces from Mozart and Strauss of which I can,t possibly remember now as classical music always put me to sleep. I,ve got a note that we also visited the Everyman Theatre but can not remember what iconic play we went to see there.
It was the summer of that year that I had saved up enough money from my weekend job as a greengrocery delivery boy at the corner shop of May Dreaper and Harry Howarth, and was allowed to go on the schools summer camp to the Isle of Man. Oh what a trip, I,d never been away from Liverpool up till then and was looking forward to it immensely. I had to buy a tin mug and plate, get a sleeping bag and have fresh clothes to wear.
The day arrived and I was excited as anything, like a kid with a new puppy ready to go on my big adventure to a foreign land, away from home for the first time, what a thrill. The trip over on the Manx Maid was brilliant, no land for hours and a tuck shop on board where there was sweets galore and fizzy drinks. The voyage was like a holiday in itself. A team of staff and lads had gone over the week before to set up camp in a field outside Peel and it was all ready for us when we arrived after getting a bus from Douglas. We were allocated a huge bell tent for about eight or ten of us, and the fun just begun.
I remember the stream where we were to wash in the morning and swim if we could stand the cold running water, the hot mugs of cocoa or drinking chocolate on alternative nights before we settled down for bed, the comraderie with the rest of the boys from the whole school and not just our class, the teachers in their mufti and being civil to us although still clearly in authority, the laughter and tears, the adventures, the days out to see Radio Caroline transmitting illegally in "foreign" waters, The Laxey Wheel, the Calf of Man, Castletown, Snaefell the highest hill on the isle and many more memories of delightful times that come to mind every now and again.
And then there was the bad times.
One of my pals fell over his suitcase and the lock on it cut open his right shoulder ripping his skin wide open and revealing white muscle underneath, yak. He had to be whisked away to hospital right away to be stitched up and made better. It didn,t ruin his holiday though as he was a bright and cheerful soul who grinned it away and got right back into his holiday.
Then there was the night someone in the tent was telling jokes and making fun of the teachers. In the middle of one really dirty joke that a big hairy hand came into the tent from under the flaps and grabbed hold of my head and shouting "Got yer, it,s you, get out now!" everyone fell silent and I got up in me birthday suit and went outside. (well where was I going to get a pair of pyjamas, me who never even had underpants because my gran was so poor) I was asked was it me who was telling filthy jokes to which I relied the negative, so the whole tent had to parade outside till the joker owned up. He or they never did so we all got whacked with a rubber pump or plimsole across the bum and went back to our sleeping bags and never uttered another word that night.
The last bad thing or blot on the holiday was when a group of us went into Peel and visited the castle. Some of the group were rambling over the cliffs and some were swimming and mucking about. One of the lads, George Taylor got into difficulties on the rocks climbing onto a rock near to the cliff. He couldn,t get from the rock back to the cliff and the tide was gushing in all around him, he was scared and began to cry. Some other lads were trying to help but they too were beginning to get scared because of the oncoming gushing swirling current just below them. I was high above them and shouted that I would run for help but fear had gripped me on the cliff and found it very difficult to pull myself up off the cliff to the top. I had frozen in a panic and was mortified that my arms and legs were stuck in fright. I looked at the three boys on the cliff, I looked at the swirling waters, I looked at George in mortal fear and I dragged myself up with all my joints clenched in fear and lay on top of the cliff in relief. After a few seconds I got up and ran, but stopped after a shout from below, "He,s done it, he,s o.k." Crickey I was relieved, but not as relieved as those three lads climbing back up from the cliff and out of danger.
Nothing was said about the incident back at camp, but the following school term there was stories and jokes about it for a few weeks untill we knuckled down into our final year. The last year in school then we would be free to go out into the big wide world and join the workforce and be men.:034:
well written Chippie :handclap: :)
This is a great read. Well done Chippie:handclap: Thanks for sharing it.
Chippy,you're a natural born story teller, I was stuck on that rock face with you ,no shame in being scared ,we're all that at times . Keep it up!
Cheers,
BrianD