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Tideswell
Tideswell maps
Historic maps of Tideswell and the local area, hand-drawn by Ordnance Survey and Samuel Lewis. View all Tideswell maps
Tideswell area books
Displaying 1 of 11 books about Tideswell and the local area. View all books for this area
You can read extracts and browse photos from these books.
Memories of Tideswell
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memories of Tideswell.
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Growing up in Tideswell
Memories abound about my childhood, jumping and leaping like a rabbit at Eastertime. I remember staying at my grandmother's (Norah Gregory, a marvellous woman from the no-moaner generation), or at my Great Aunty Jessie's (Jessie Oldfield, who lived at Market Square in her parent's home) on weekend nights, playing with the old-timers (their friends Cassie Fletcher or Lillian Harrison). Even if I lost ( for half pennies), they'd hand the booty over! A rich man with all my ha'pennies.
Mrs Warrintons, sweets and papers. Gregory's shop opposite The George, with the man with bad leg. The "bottom shop", that sold groceries, and for a time videos (I remember venturing in to rent "Lady Chatterly's Lover", my adrenalin flowing - the woman - (her name I forget), must have chuckled to herself after I left the shop in a stuttering and stumbling fashion, knowing that one thing I hadn't bought it for was the story).
I had a lot of relatives. My... Read more
Memories of Growing up in 1940s Tideswell
Up past the lightning tree, its trunk split in half where it was struck. Round Conjoin Lane and back home to Mum. Big brother and sister, our Vee and our George, fair-haired and handsome, this brother of mine. Our Vera is dark, beautiful and mysterious, seven years older, I love her to bits. She puts my long hair in rags and teases me. Our George brings his mates, 'Melly Hood' I call one, his name is Melvin and he wears a coat with a hood on his head. Dad's garden in summer ablaze with colour and scents, delicious. Golden Rod attracting the bees and butterflies, Calendulas, marigolds, hearts ease, pansies. Mum standing in queues at the butchers and bakers. Coming home with a large tin of tomatoes, we had them for tea, they tasted heavenly. Going out to play with my friends, skipping and hopscotch, pinching crab apples from Uncle Bernard's orchard. Growing up in Forties England in a village so small, everyone knows everyone, warts and all. MEMORIES.
Memories of Growing up in 1940s Tideswell
Memories of visiting Uncle Bernard at his cobbler's shop, and smelling the leather and sweaty feet. Uncle Bernard makes crisps, peeling potatoes so thin with the knife he uses to cut leather, and the crisps taste good, Uncle Bernard is my friend. We go to the Orchard behind the Club(Ex- Service Mens Club). He keeps Banties there (small hens to you), Uncle Bernard, Uncle Herbert and Dad show them They've won lots of prizes, and medals and cups adorn the sideboard in Uncle Bernard's house. Every dinner time on my way home from school I go up to the top of 'the cliff' to fetch milk from the Misses Brocklehurst for Uncle Bernard. I dont like going, I grumble and groan, yet I still have to go. Home for dinner, Mam cooks something nice. Running and skipping, and taking the dogs for a walk. Elsie Hollis, International Poet
Memories of Growing up in 1940s Tideswell
My memories of growing up in 1940s' Tideswell are: navy blue knickers with elastic bottoms, gym slips and liberty bodices, awful shoes, legs like poppy stems, twirling and whirling, chalk on the blackboard, desks with inkwells, teachers so prim we held them in awe - they knew each and every one of us. Snotty noses, permanent sniffs, the thick and the bright. Running home to Mother - "What's there for tea?". Want more? Get in touch! Elsie Hollis, International Poet
Derbyshire memories
The Unitarian Holiday Camp
I was 10 when I was sent from my home in Bognor Regis to the Unitarian Church's holiday camp at Great Hucklow for three weeks. Since I was the only child from the south of England, I was frequently teased about my accent. I remember being miserable a lot of the time thinking that my parents had wanted to get rid of me. I even tried to run away up to the top of the hill where the gliders took off.
But now I can recall the positive things about the place: Washing my face every morning in the open air with fresh, cold spring water, visiting the Blue John Mine (where one child forgot to duck and scraped his head on the tunnel ceiling) 'mystery' bus trips to the incredibly beautiful countryside with its tumbling streams and rivers, all quite unlike the fields of Sussex I was used to.
I live in BC, Canada, and long to revisit the Great Hucklow area. One day I will do... Read more
Paper Boy
I was a 16 year old boy and lived with my family on a hillside opposite Tunstead quarry known as The Lees. Every Sunday morning I would pick up the papers (News of the World , People etc) on my bicycle from the post office in Peak Dale, sort them out into household lots and then ride the path through to the bottom of Wormhill and deliver them to the individual houses and farms finishing at a Mansion type house with a High stone wall around it at the very top of the village. Walking through the farmyards and fields sometimes had its dangers and I was chased more than once by the odd Bull, scattering the papers in the mud and having to explain to the next household why the headlines were unreadable. Sometimes in winter I would have to walk it as the snow was too deep to ride my bike through.
I have many fond memories of the area. At first we lived in Peak Dale... Read more
A Soldiers Lament
Will I ever hear the wind sough in the trees as I lie in my trench in the night? Will I ever hear our Anna's laughing voice. or see my mother's kindly face? Here in the trenches of the Somme, lying in the mud, the everlasting mud, my thoughts fly like the birds on wing, back to my home, to Little Hucklow's gentle calm. A young man still, nineteen summers I have had, yet old I feel with horrors I have seen, my comrades blown to pieces before my eyes, incessant gunfire in my ears, the stench of blood and worse is all around me. Yet through this horror my thoughts turn inward, Back to my home, to England, that fair and pleasant land, my home in Derbyshire, my sisters and brother. Will I ever hear the wind sough in the trees,as I lie in my bed at night, or will I lie in this foreign land, an unmarked grave, one of thousands? No name, just 'the unknown soldier', my... Read more
