Displaying the first of 35 old photos of Waddington. View all Waddington photos
Historic maps of Waddington and the local area, hand-drawn by Ordnance Survey and Samuel Lewis. View all Waddington maps
Waddington area books
Displaying 1 of 18 books about Waddington and the local area. View all books for this area
Memories of Waddington
Home Sweet Home
1981 The year we moved into West Bradford, to Gable Cottage, built about 1790. For 28 very happy years we lived here. Aunty Nancy the cottage ghost showed her present sometimes! No gas, no lights overhead electric wires and telly pole in back garden! Well, in 28 years on we had gas lights etc etc! Well, it was time to move on. We settled on Portugal! Now we live in a village with no gas, sort of street lights, and a telegraph pole on front garden! We miss west Bradford!
Paddling Pool, Castle Field
I remember this pool vividly! One day I was riding my tricyle round the outside of the pool, which wasn't filled with water at the time. Unfortunately I happened to fall in and I cut my hand on a broken glass. After 34 years I still have a scar to prove it.
Morris Dancing With The Clitheroe Morris Men
This was a weekend to remember!
The Clitheroe Morris Men invited several other dance "sides" to join them for a weekend of dancing, music and - of course - beer drinking! By a lucky chance I was included in this invitation due to a strange set of circumstances...
Just the Autumn before, in 1979, I had begun to play my piano accordian for the Whitethorn Morris team in Harrow, Middlesex. After a month or two of enjoyable music I spotted an advertisement in the Watford Observer which said that the Pumphouse Women's Clog Morris urgently needed a musician to play for their practice evenings on Monday nights. Well, I lived in Watford, and I badly needed the extra opportunities to practise playing for dancing on my accordian myself. So I got in touch and found myself twice as busy: Mondays nights playing in Watford for the Pump House Clog Morris and Thursday nights playing in Harrow for Whitethorn Morris. This worked well and my standard... Read more
I was born 1945 at Mason Green Farm and attended the little school from 1950 until 1954 when my father moved on to other employment away from the area to Furness in north Lancs. My sister Barbara who is 4 years younger than me only briefly attended the school. My memories are of a small happy group of kids in 2 separate classes with a very loud but firm Headmistress, Miss Arms, followed by a Miss or Mrs? Leeming and another teacher, Miss Doris Stanley. When I visit the old place now I notice the Reading Room and Assembly Room are now private houses and the shop/post office has gone, the school also, as did the chapel, the filling station came and went too. I remember "Pop" Chew on a chair in the reading room and Mr and Mrs Wilson who ran the shop/post office. On certain Sundays the school doubled as the church and the minister from Mitton, Canon Calderbank, officiated. I recall the trips by the bus on... Read more
I also went to Bashall school, and remember Miss Arms and Miss Stanley. I have a school photo which must have been taken about 1952. After Miss Stanley, we had Miss Webster and Mrs Leeming. My older brother and my twin brother also went to the school. My best friend in those days, is still my best friend now.
I remember in the 1950s my sister Annette and I used to spend some time on a farm owned by Mr Thomas Holgate who was a friend of the family and really enjoyed those times. The farm was called Townley House and my dad used to help with the hay making. I also used to go there occasionally to do jobs when I worked for Roland Ford plasterers and slaters in the 1960s. I now live in Australia.
My grandad kept racing pigeons, his loft was at the top of the old road looking down into the village centre. Ever Saturday morning during the racing season he would send me up to the Brown Cow (public house) to check when the birds had been released and which way the wind was blowing. It would say something like, let 09.30 / wind SW. I would have to remember this all the way back to tell my grandad. We would then sit and wait for the first sign of his birds. I was nine years old at the time