Memories Of Farsley

A Memory of Farsley.

Grew up in Land Street, slept with my first girlfriend Wendy Gill until the pram got too small, that would be 1940, where are you now Wendy?. I still remember the Messershmitt and pilot who landed in the play field at the top of Westway. The fun and games we had as kids up to 1946, helping those friendly German prisoners build Fairfield housing estate. We moved to 43 Westway in about 1948, my father Horace, Waterhouse, mother Lucy, brothers Barry and Eric, I think Keith was born there. In winter we would go sledging down Land Street down to the Pump Well. Is it still there?

I remember when the snow melted the water would burst through the front gardens and flood the street. School days were excellent, we had real teachers, I remember Miss Eric dropping my pants when I was 4 year old and giving me several hard slaps on my bare bottom for not paying attention. That was at we called the little school, the smaller building of the two on Francis Street. I purposely failed my 11plus exam at the big school, because they taught Latin at Pudsey Grammer, but did gardening at Wesley Street. The penny loaves from the bakery on the corner of Wesley Street and Town Street were a twice a week treat.

Started my first paper round when I was 12, lugging 2 satchels of magazines and newspapers up Croft Street certainly developed muscles, but the winter skies and stars at 5.00 in the morning were a joy to look at. Mr Clegg offered me an evening paper round, which I couldn't refuse, this took me down Calverley Lane, up Priesthorpe Lane down Bagley Lane as far as the Bright Screw Company. It was a lot of walking but it kept me fit. Mr Nolan the headmaster didn't like it because I had to leave school early. I kept the evening job until I started my apprenticeship with English Electric at Thornbury, I kept the morning job for another 2 years. Work never hurt anybody in those days.

Yes, we would get into mischief. The local grocer, I'm sure, purposely left a pane loose in the shop window, one night I slid the window pane to one side and stole an apple, I must have walked 10 miles so that I could throw the apple core away and be fairly certain if someone found it they wouldn't get my finger prints. Of course when I got home my face gave me away, so the following morning my dad took me down to Mr ... I said I was sorry and paid for the apple. I remember another time fooling around in the hay on Gaunts Farm down Bagley Lane, then to be rounded up at shotgun point (four of us) and taken by horse and cart to Farsley Police Station, it was near the Cenotaph then. We were given a good lecturing, and as punishment ordered to help rebuild the haystack and promise to help with the harvest next year, which we did, and and enjoyed it, and got paid for it. I think these were lessons which helped shape my life.

A number comes to mind, 107662, Mums Co-op number, the ration books. The Co-op had 3 doors I think, the top door was to the food department, stepping down to the shoe department, out of the corner door, turn left 20 yards to the butchers. Next to the butchers and opposite the Croft Street fish and fish shop was a little unkempt cobbled lane which was a private playground, actually it was the forgotten graveyard for some old army trucks, all rusty and overgrown with weeds, but I spent many happy hours there with my fried Norman Ellerton, 'Wag' we called him, whose parents' house used to help shield it from prying eyes. The tip was a great place, I got my first motorbike and my first car from there, and both worked, the bike was a squarial, and I think the car was a Morgan! Memory playing tricks again.

Bluebell Hill was a good place to be, there was a holly tree at the low end, and at the top there was always what we called 'tuski' ie rhubarb, thick red succulent stems. There was little wooden door where the stream came from, and a loud ticking noise behind, we were always told there were elves behind the door and the noise was their donkey. Over the paddock near the farm we used to fossil for bits of pottery, from what I believed was once the Farsley Pottery.

Teenage prestige, about 1959 A few of the lucky lads were allowed to pick up the dream car Aston Martin from the back of George Cohen's 600 works and drive them down Townstreet, Calverley Lane
Woodhall Lane, down Bradford Road back to the factory, we were told it was to get the engines warm so the mechanics could do the final engine adjustments, these dream cars had no body work, it was a chassis with a temporary seat, brilliant.

Is Titty Bottle park still there? Less than 2 minutes walk from 3 Bubs and 3 Fish and Chip shops.

For the boys the Mills were both exciting and dangerous places, depending on one's level of testosterone, venture too close to the skips at dinner time and the girls would grab you and try to get you into one of them

I've been in Australia now for nigh on 40 years. Sydney 15 years, various 5 years, and the last 20 in Perth, loved most of it but still think many of the best years of my life were were teenage and early twenties, except for those endless hours waiting at the bus stop in Leeds after night school in the fog and freezing rain, Still its no better than sweltering in the relentless sun on the farm in 45*C geat and 90% humidity, Nothings's perfect, only most of it.