A Great Start To Life Growing Up In North Bitchburn

A Memory of North Bitchburn.

Here are just a few of my childhood memories of my youth in North Bitchburn. My name is Ian Pinkney, I lived at No 10 Constantine Road, along with my father Raymond, he was in charge of the Royal Mail sorting office in Crook until he retired, my mother, Florence, who was a university graduate and became a school teacher, even teaching for a short time at Howden le Wear school (where did I go wrong), then there was my younger brother and sister Niel and Alison. We had a brilliant childhood, everyone in the village was really friendly and all mucked in to help each other in times of need, a true close knit community. Money was tight in those days, we didn't have a TV, telephone or car - even the toilet didn't flush, we had an earth closet along the backs, not good when you got the call in the middle of a blizzard. No one locked their doors as everyone was in the same boat, no need to keep up with the Jones's  "cos they had nowt as well". The roads were so quiet except for the fleet of little green Bedford wagons loaded with stone struggling up Bitchburn bank. In winter, when it snowed, we could sledge down the bank to almost reach Howden, then the long walk back to do it all again. In summer we were out playing, weather permitting, all day, only taking breaks for dinner and tea, we were always late. We were dressed like ragamuffins, not a designer label in sight, patched knees backsides and pockets hanging off, snagged on nails, fences, thorn bushes or from rolling over. Our play ground was mainly the naxi with its pit heap, pit ponds, pit shaft, monkey trees and an abundance of hawthorn bushes.  We shared this with the pit ponies and a larger one called Toby kept us on our toes and had us scrambling up the monkey trees to avoid him. Our skills at camp building was legendary.  At first, branches covered with ferns, then as our building and scavenging skills improved we progressed to hut building, each one accompanied by a fire; this was our addiction and as a result we always returned home with that smokey odour. We caught newts and black nags in the pit ponds, now all long gone, we fished for minnows in Blackie Beck down Jackie Brougham's and when we fell in, almost guaranteed, we made our way to the burning spoil heap down the works and here we would dry our clothes. Here we also made ash trays, pots and figures from fire clay and baked them in the hot fissures in the heaps. There were coal chutes in the three storey coal sorting shed; a great time was had sliding down them, mind you when made our way home we were as  black as the fire back.  We pushed the pit tubs around, even suceeding in getting one up Bitchburn bank. We must have been as fit as butchers dogs, no burgers, fries and fizzy drinks for us. There must have been a baby boom then as there was always a ample supply of pram wheels with axles, essential in bogie building, which we spent many happy hours building, then racing through the mud holes in the naxi. One of the special days of the year was November 5th , we spent weeks prior collecting wood, paper, old furniture even tractor tyres from the works to build our bonfire on the Welgarth, they were always massive and burnt for most of the night. Fireworks  amazed us, on one occasion walking home from school Trevor had a sky rocket under his arm and someone lit it, it was spectacular as it shot off leaving in aflash of sparks and smoke leaving behind a shell shocked Trevor with a smouldering armpit, hilarious at the time, not so now. We had no idea of the risks we took, we made spud guns from steel tubing, squashed at one end, we dropped a lit banger in it then bunged a piece of potato in the open end, then we chased each other trying to score a stinging hit, luckily no one ever got hurt, little wonder bangers were eventually banned lethal in the wrong hands. And now to school not one of the more happier times in my life at first anyway, especially on my first day having to walk past Ms Heslops class, her with her moustache and catanine tails, to say the least I was terrified was a understatement, fortunately Ms Snowden saved the day when Ms heslop retired and she took over from her. Mrs Browbank was also a lovely person and wonderful teacher, both teachers I will always remember with a special fondness. The best thing about school was the dinners, served in the institute across the road from the school, I loved them, sweets to die for, even getting seconds,  the dinner ladies were as equally lovely. I still visit North Bitchburn frequently as I have an allotment up there, I find it so quiet there now, but still a special place.