Anne White (nee Russell)

Now that I have ‘discovered’ your magazine I am eager to contribute some more of my memories! The response from my childhood memories of The Chemical Yard has been very satisfying and I am pleased that so many people have read and enjoyed my story.  Before I embark on another epic story I thought I would write a short reply to some of the comments and provide other little snippets of information.  

Many people have commented that I did not write about the Siddall brothers. They were called Tommy and Freddie and they did live in The Chemical Yard possibly during the late 1930’s early 1940’s. My memories are from the mid 1940’s to late 1950’s and during this time the two brothers were living on Queen Victoria Road with their sister Mrs Sharpe, her husband and daughter Jennifer. Jennifer was just a few months younger than me and we were good friends. Their house overlooked our cottage. As Mike Roberts says in his letter in your June issue, Tom and Fred were gentle, kind and helpful. I couldn’t have used better words to describe them! My mum was especially fond of them and she would find little jobs for them to do on our tiny smallholding. She would reward them with cigarettes for their help. Sadly, some children did tease them but our mum always taught us to treat others with respect and she wouldn’t have tolerated us making fun of them. We just knew that they were a bit different to us, that’s all. They, in return thought a lot about my mum, she was always kind to them. One day, they were helping us to tidy the garden and they were filling the wheelbarrow with weeds and overgrown branches etc. They worked hard and were eager to please but my mum was upset to discover that one of them had ventured into the greenhouse and pulled out her carefully nurtured grape vine and tossed it into the barrow where it lay irretrievably buried under all the other garden waste!

I am so pleased that Mike describes the blacksmith and gives his name as Mr Bradbury who lived on Queen Victoria Road. I can distinctly remember watching the blacksmith at work; I recall the heat from his fire and the loud ringing sound as he hammered out the red hot glowing horseshoes on his anvil. I instinctively knew that I would be allowed to watch as long as I didn’t get too close or make a nuisance of myself and I was fascinated. I must have been a very small child and I wonder when Mr Bradbury retired. I think that Mr Marcroft bought the premises when their role as a blacksmiths ended. My step-gran told me that the horses which were brought to be re-shoed had often been walked for a long distance and they would be taken into the river which was similar to a shallow ford at this point so that their feet could be cooled down.  Mike describes a sledge made for his family by Mr Bradbury. We also owned a large sledge, it was heavy and had strong iron runners, I wonder if this was one of Mr Bradbury’s creations too. On the map of The Chemical Yard, which I attempted to draw as accurately as possible, I didn’t quite get the river in the right place as it ran directly behind the blacksmiths and Marcroft’s Builders yard.  

I find so much of interest in the Totley Independent and I loved the picture of the cottages in Totley Hall Lane which was featured on the front page of the May issue. I remember Mrs Stubbs very well. She was a dinner lady when I attended Totley All Saints School during the 1940’s. Her son, I think his name was John, was in my class. He was off school once for quite some time and our teacher told us that John was feeling lonely and isolated and that he was missing seeing all his friends from school. Our teacher thought that it would be a nice idea and a friendly gesture if some of us would visit him. I went to their cottage and Mrs Stubbs kindly invited me inside and showed me into John’s bedroom where he was tucked up in bed looking lost and forlorn. Both John and his mum seemed pleased and grateful to have me visit them. I don’t know what his illness was but I trust that it wasn’t contagious!  

I also enjoyed reading Jean Smithson’s contribution to your June Issue. I always knew the woods by the name of Gillyfield and, the first time that I saw the name in print, I thought that the printers had got their facts wrong! I remember walking through the woods in early springtime, they were full of bluebells and the sun’s rays shone through the baby green leaves of the beech trees, I thought I was in the Garden of Eden. I recall seeing the remains of the swimming pool and wondering why it was there. I would often go for walks all by myself or often accompanied by one or more of our dogs. One of my favourite pastimes was jumping over the river just as Jean describes and I would always have friends with me on those occasions. One day, we came across a large, square piece of stone which was partly in the river, partly on the riverbank and partly buried. We examined it with curiosity and thought that some of the writing on it was similar to Roman lettering. When one of my friends suggested that it might be a headstone from a grave we hurriedly left and never went back to it again. I wonder if this was by any chance the milestone which Jean mentioned?  

I only intended to write a few short words but, finally, I have to mention Tommy Barber as both Mike Roberts and J W Abson have mentioned him in their letters to your magazine. Others have asked if I knew him and I understand that he was quite a well-known character for various dubious reasons. Well, he did indeed live in The Chemical Yard. My step-gran was his mother and his father was my maternal grandfather who I have only recently discovered was also called Thomas. My grandfather had 5 children (one of them being my mum) with his first wife, Hannah. Hannah died and granddad married Ada, my step-gran. Together, they had seven more children and it seems a shame that, out of all my grandfather’s children, it is only my Uncle Tom who is remembered so well. The rest of his siblings grew into hardworking and respectable people who were a credit to the local community. I am beginning to realize that he must have been the black sheep of the family. When speaking to me or writing about him people have been guarded and discreet, they probably know more about him than I do as I only knew him well when I was a child and rarely saw him in later years. Today, in this era of open-mindedness and acceptance, his behaviour might not seem as scandalous.  

My step-gran was a lovely mum and grandma and the people who knew her respected and admired her honesty and down-to-earth attitude. She was what was then known as a ‘grafter’, her home was spotlessly clean and she was a good cook. Her life hadn’t been an easy one but she had dignity and a pride in her appearance. She worked as a cleaner at Gratton’s shop on Totley Rise and as a cleaner at Mrs Gratton’s home.  One incident which highlights my childhood naivety was when I was sent on an errand one day to Gratton’s. I was about 9yrs old and as I walked along the Back Lane holding on tightly to the money I had been given, I kept repeating to myself the name of the product I had been asked to purchase. I reached the shop and stepped inside; even though the shop was only small it was always staffed by several assistants. No self-service in those days! One of the assistants came to serve me. “Please may I have a jar of Pond’s vanishing cream'?” I asked politely. I felt smugly proud that I had remembered the purpose of my errand but my pride and confidence swiftly vanished as she held out two jars and asked which size I wanted. “I don’t know" I said. One of the other assistants came over to help. They checked my money, I had enough to buy the larger jar so we didn’t know if I should buy that one or take the smaller one and some change. Seeing my bewilderment, one of the assistants asked in a gentle voice, "Who is it for Anne, is it for your gran?” When I answered her question I was even more bewildered as all the assistants looked embarrassed, they exchanged knowing looks and put their hands over their mouths to try and still their nervous laughter. I had replied with the total honesty and innocence of a child, “No, it’s for my Uncle Tom!”  Enough said I think! 

July 2011

I was delighted with the response to my memories of life in The Chemical Yard during the late forties/early fifties which you published in issue 342 of The Totley Independent. When time allows I am hoping to write more of my memories and I had every intention of trying to organise them into chronological order or into some other kind of organised categories. However, after reading some of the recent letters, stories and other items of interest in your magazine I find that I can no longer hold back some of my memories.

Firstly I must apologize to David Lee, you published a letter from him in the July/August issue last year and I should have replied to his comments immediately. He mentions fishing in the river with either myself or my sister Audrey. I do remember him as being one of the friends I had at this time, and we spent many happy hours paddling or fishing together. I also remember the tree he describes which was high up on the bank overlooking the yard, someone had tied a thick, coarse rope to one of its branches and there was a thin stick attached to the other end for us to sit on as we launched ourselves out into mid-air. He also mentions a car which had been abandoned. Yes, we played in this car and used it as an unofficial den, but, I don’t think that it was a Jaguar. However, as anyone who knows me will agree, I am not much of an authority on cars so he may well be correct! I intend to write about all of these subjects in much greater detail eventually so I hope my answers to his letter will suffice for the time being.

Recently there has been much interest shown in the old school house on Totley Hall Lane which is being refurbished.  Around 1949 when I was 8yrs old the school house was a private residence. The people who lived there were friends of our family, my mum in particular. I am annoyed, that try as I might, I cannot remember their names. As far as I can recall, they were a young couple with two children, a girl and a boy. I remember the inscription over the doorway which gave the date when the school was built. I would read the words over and over again and thought that it was rather romantic for someone to be living in an old school house. At that time, I was a pupil at Totley All Saints Church of England School. I didn’t like school dinners but the school was too far away for me to go home for lunch so, my mum and the lady who lived in the school house came to some kind of arrangement whereby I would go to their house and she would provide me with a hot dinner each school day. I was very happy with this plan though I seem to remember that my lunch often consisted of a bowl of semolina with a spoonful of jam - and very nice it was too!

These lovely people even took me with them on a weeks family holiday to Scarborough; we stayed in a private house which I believe belonged to the lady’s mother. I have a very vivid picture in my mind of the last part of our journey to this house. We were walking along a narrow path at the side of a quiet country road, it seemed a long way and the father was striding out in front of the rest of us as we tried to keep up with him. He carried my case on his shoulder with his arm raised above his head to support it, in his other hand he carried the family’s case which presumably contained all the clothes and belongings which the four of them would require for their holiday. Even though I was only a child, I realised, with a mortifying feeling of guilt and embarrassment that my case seemed to be the heavier of the two. In the privacy of the bedroom I opened up my case and discovered that, apart from a few clothes and other small items, my mum had packed it to the brim with bars of chocolate and packets of sweets! From our cottage in the Chemical Yard, my mum and dad sold sweets and cigarettes as a way of supplementing our income. It was all legal and ‘above board’ as my dad had a license to do so. Rationing was still in force so my mum must have saved our coupons in order to supply me with all those treats, she was certainly making sure that I didn’t starve! The house where we stayed was in a quaint picturesque country village, there was a village greenof neatly mown grass with a large jet-black pump in the centre. It became the children’s duty for the week to take a bucket to the pump, fill it with pumped water and carry it back to the house. It was the only source of water for the entire household. This chore was a novelty and great fun at first but by the end of the week I was more than ready to return home to our cottage and the luxury of an indoor tap with cold running water!

During this holiday, we spent a day at the coast. We had played on the beach and paddled and splashed in the sea, I had been in my element and had had a great time but I started to feel very cold and shivery. As I lay on the damp sand with a towel wrapped tightly round me I felt a sharp stabbing pain in my tummy. I began to cry and desperately wanted my mum to be there to comfort me. For several weeks after the holiday I felt this same pain, our local doctor was called upon many times to examine me and his diagnosis was that I had what was known as ‘grumbling appendicitis’. His opinion was that, if it continued or became totally unbearable, I would have to have an operation to remove my appendix. Eventually, the pain subsided and I am still unsure whether it was my appendix or eating all those sweets which gave me such problems, all I do know is that, despite many other health problems over the years my appendix is still intact and in its rightful place!

A topical issue of interest at the moment is whether or not Totley should have a community centre. I wonder if anyone recalls that there was a thriving and very popular community centre for Totley based at Abbeydale Hall? I loved this place and spent many happy hours there. There was a large room where dances could be held; it had tall windows with wide window seats and heavy wooden shutters. Upstairs there were games rooms with a snooker table, dart board and lots of room for other similar sporting activities.  

Each year a concert would be organised and everyone was welcomed and encouraged to take part. I expect it was, in a way, Totley’s own version of Britain’s Got Talent! Audrey and I would always take part in little sketches or sing in a children’s choir. One year, when I was about 9yrs old Audrey decided that we should create an act of our own for the concert. I would sing a solo while she played the piano. I chose a popular song of that time called ‘Mockingbird Hill’. We rehearsed it at home, but, when the time came to rehearse at the hall, I refused to sing. This happened on several occasions; Audrey would sit at the piano and play the song in its entirety while the organisers of the concert calculated the time required for our performance. They became increasingly concerned about my lack of co-operation. Audrey re-assured them telling them there was no need to worry as I would definitely sing on the night, and she was right. I stood all alone at the front of the stage while Audrey sat at the piano way below me to one side of the stage. I sang out loud and clear and word perfect exactly as we had rehearsed at home, the curtains closed and I could hear the audience applauding enthusiastically. Just as I was breathing a huge dramatic sigh of relief, the curtains suddenly re- opened and, at the sight of my startled face, the audience burst into laughter. That was the first and last time that I ever sang a solo in public. The audience consisted mostly of local people and they always gave huge support and encouragement to all those taking part no matter how good or bad or talented their performance.

There were no other distractions such as television etc in those days so the concerts played a big part in Totley’s entertainment calendar. Whole families became involved in one way or another. The White family who lived in Laverdene Avenue were very active members. Mr. White was involved in administration and organisation and Mrs. White was the dressmaker. Their daughter Valerie attended ballet lessons and she would give a solo ballet performance which was always rewarded with rapturous applause. On the occasion when Audrey and I appeared in the concert, Mrs. White had made a special dress for me to wear. Dress material was almost unobtainable and very expensive in those austere years following World War II so my dress was made from fragile crepe paper in garish shades of orange and green. There was a type of ‘ruff’ with ties at each end made from the same paper and the lady who was helping me to dress for the concert wasn’t sure where to fasten the ‘ruff’. Mrs. White was busy elsewhere so my helper tried tying the ‘ruff’ round my waist then round my neck and finally she decided that it should be fastened on top of my head. I think I probably went on stage looking like a demented cockatoo! On another occasion, several of the younger girls were chosen to take part in a little ballet dance scenario.

The curtains would open to reveal a luxurious throne and a beautiful queen watching in regal silence as several girls, dressed as dainty little butterflies, fluttered around the stage their gossamer wings quivering with excitement as they whispered to each other. As the butterflies departed they were replaced by black and yellow bumble bees also whispering to each other and obviously spreading important news. After several groups of other insects and birds had made their appearance, the finale arrived with the grand appearance of a stork (me of course) dressed in a white ballet tutu and a white hat complete with yellow beak. In my tightly clenched mouth were the four corners of on of my dad’s pristine white handkerchiefs.  

Enclosed in the handkerchief’s folds was a small doll. I had to strut around the stage, full of my own importance before making my way to a small cot strategically placed next to the queen’s throne and gently lower her ‘newborn baby’ into it. During rehearsals I was told that I was supposed to bend over the cot with my back to the audience. I flatly and adamantly refused to do this; I knew that it was bad manners to face away from the audience. What a Diva! In fairness to myself, I must explain that the main reason for my refusal was that I was extremely conscious of unsightly scarring on the top of my leg which was a result of burns I had suffered in a dreadful accident two years earlier. Sometimes, a play or other type of production took place at Abbeydale Hall and the people who performed in these became the original members of T.O.A.D.S. (Totley Operatic and Dramatic Society).

Mr. and Mrs. White’s son Norman became very influential within this group and the breakaway group who formed part of Sheffield Teachers Drama and Operatic Society. Mrs. White remained the chief dressmaker for some of their wonderful productions. Norman became an eminent Sheffield solicitor. The gardens of Abbeydale Hall were beautiful and I loved to run around the front garden weaving in and out of the branches of the weeping willow tree. At the back of the hall was a walled garden with many different species of flowers and there was a shallow garden pond which was always overflowing with frogspawn in the springtime. One of the main events of the year at the hall was the May Queen ceremony.

This would take place in the grounds of the hall if the weather was fine. A parade would start inside the premises, it would wend its way round the front of the building to the walled garden at the back where a stage would have been erected and the throne for the queen placed in its centre. One year, the girls carried hoops decorated with flowers. We walked to a selected path where we opened up the hoops and facing a partner across the path we formed an archway for the queen to walk beneath We all wore our one own clothes for these events and, on one occasion, I wore a dress which had been given to us by Mrs. Gratton who owned the well known and prestigious grocery shop at the top of Totley Rise. The dress had belonged to one of her daughters; it was so pretty, I felt like a princess as I walked at the front of the procession with a smartly dressed boy of about my age by my side and a bouquet in my arms ready to be presented to the new May Queen. The dress was beautiful and unlike anything my parents would have been able to afford.

In March 1955 my sister Audrey married her fiancé Peter in a beautiful wedding ceremony at Totley All Saints Church. They held the wedding reception in the main room at Abbeydale Hall, with outside caterers providing the food. It was a very special and happy occasion. A couple of years later I started going to a weekly Old Time Sequence Dance night at the hall. Scratchy vinyl records played on an old record player provided the music. Most of the people who attended were much older than myself but I loved it, one of my favourite dances being The Lancers which involved many different dance sequences and moves, it required a lot of concentration and was a serious challenge. Some of the other dances we enjoyed were the Progressive Barn dance, The Valetta Waltz and The Square Tango. During the interval the caretakers would disappear into the huge kitchen, they would return with biscuits and strong tea served in utility cups and saucers in a nauseous shade of green. The caretakers were called Hammond and their son, David, would sometimes play the piano for our dances, it provided a welcome relief from the scratchy records!

Mrs. Cooper who lived in Laverdene Avenue was one of the people who came occasionally and Mr. Butterworth who owned the cycle shop on Abbeydale road regularly attended. Winnie Stanway, who was our next door neighbour, would come along with me sometimes as would my friend Judith Littler who lived in one of the prefabs on Green Oak Road. The girls and women far outnumbered the menfolk so we would have to learn both sets of steps and take turns dancing with each other.  

My dad didn’t approve of me going to the dances; he would frown at the sight of me dressed in my best ‘Sunday’ clothes on a weekday and wearing a hint of make-up which he strongly disliked. Sadly, my mum had died and dad took his role as single parent very seriously. He had only ever known a life of hard work without any holidays or leisure time, his health was rapidly deteriorating. He would give me firm instructions that I was to be back home by 10.30pm so I would have to choose whether to leave the dance early, in plenty of time to catch the last bus home, or enjoy the final dance of the night. If I chose the latter, I would more than likely miss the bus and have to walk home. Whichever choice I made, I would always receive a firm lecture as I entered the house, he wasn’t a particularly religious man but he was convinced that by going dancing and staying out ‘late’ I was heading for a sinful and immoral life!

July 2012

From John Perkinton

Re The Totley memories by Ann White in last month’s issue. She mentions the family at the school house who were friends of her family, and their trips to Scarborough. I think she means Ethel Smith and her family. They had two girls called Brenda and Janet and a boy Ian. Mrs Smith’s mother and other relatives lived at the little village of Staxton near Scarborough. It had a small pub just off the Main road and a pump and a village green and you did go down quite a long lane in to the village and church. I too used to visit Staxton on numerous occasions to take Mrs Smith to visit her Mother, Brother and other relatives. Ethel was buried in the church yard there a few years ago.

September 2012

For several reasons, it has been a long time since I wrote about my memories of my childhood living in the Chemical Yard at Totley during the 1940s and 50s. So, after much gentle nagging and flattering encouragement from Graham Gregory, my very dear friend and old classmate, here are some more of my recollections.

I shall concentrate this particular story on my Gran. She was my Step-Gran, so not a blood relation, but she was a great comfort to me during a difficult time in my life.

Both my parents had died by the time I reached 15 years of age. I was living on my own in our family home, North West Cottage (now demolished). The cottage was being renovated and my sister and her husband were due to move in once the work had been completed.

My Gran lived in Sheaf Cottage which was one of four cottages which backed immediately onto the river. The cottages didn’t have back towards but they did have quite long, narrow, pretty front gardens. Next-door to Gran lived Mr Thompson. When Mr Thompson died, his cottage became home to Reg and Jean Pashley and their children, Richard and Diane. Jean Pashley is Graham’s cousin and I am delighted to say that we have recently been re-united and love to reminisce so this story is also for her. She was a very helpful and friendly neighbour to both my mum and my Gran and I thought of her as a role model as she always looked so pretty in her fashionable summer dresses. My mum was an agent for Gratton’s catalogue and Jean bought her clothes from the catalogue and paid for them on a weekly basis. I can call her Jean now because we are both more of an age, but in the 50s when I was just a teenager and acted as their babysitter, I would never dream of calling Jean and Reg by their Christian names. I always referred to them as Mr and Mrs Pashley.

My Gran was a small ‘wiry’ woman, always busy, always dashing here and there. She had a very down-to- earth and practical approach to life and wasn’t one to feel sorry for herself. She just ‘got on with things’. I would sleep at her house some nights when the renovation work left our cottage rather uncomfortable. I never received a cuddle or a hug from her - she didn’t display those kinds of emotions – but she would cook a good wholesome meal for me, place it on the table and say, “get that down you lass and you won‘t come to any harm”.

She worked as a cleaner at Gratton’s, the general grocery store on Totley Rise. She was also a cleaner for Mrs Gratton at her home on Marstone Crescent and she was always on standby to act as babysitter at Mrs Gratton’s when required.

Her own home was immaculately spotless and her routine was strictly adhered to. As soon as we finished our evening meal, the dishes would be washed and dried and neatly stacked away before we made ourselves comfortable and listened to the radio broadcast of ‘The Archers’. This was the only time of day when she relaxed. We sat in silence until the programme finished. As an occasional treat she would sometimes pour herself a glass of Guinness before retiring to bed around 9.30 pm in preparation for an early start the next morning.

Recently, I decided to research my Gran’s family history. I had already researched my maternal grandparents as I had never known anything about them. My mum was 38 years old when she gave birth to me and all of my grandparents had already passed away. I didn’t even know their names. Everyone was too busy getting on with life in those days to even think about discussing past events.

I discovered that my step-Gran was born in 1886 and named Ada Whitford. According to the 1891 Census her father’s name was Sidney Thomas Whitford (39 years), he was a widower. He worked as a beef butcher and lived in Newbold/Dunston, Chesterfield, with three daughters and son, and Ada was listed as his youngest daughter. However in the 1901 Census, he is still at the same address with Ada, now 15 years old, and his youngest daughter Louie aged 11. I need to carry out further research to discover the name of my step-Gran’s mother and also the year and cause of her mother’s death, for I believe she may have died giving birth to Louie.

Losing her mother at such a young age goes a long way to explaining why my step-Gran never gave, nor expected to receive, any physical affection. She had a strong sense of duty and probably had to help to look after her younger sister. She may even have helped her father’s butcher shop so the practicalities of life were her priorities.

The 1911 census shows her, at 25 years of age, living as a general servant in a large house on Botanical Road, Ecclesall, Sheffield.

My maternal grandma Hannah died in 1914 leaving my grandad Thomas with five children to raise including my own mum who was the eldest at nine years old. Later that same year my grandad married Ada: she became his children’s step-mum. I am curious to know how Ada and Thomas met and how he managed to persuade her to take on his young ready-made family! Their ages ranged from three years to 9 years.

Less than two years after their marriage Ada and Thomas had their first child together, Reginald, born in 1916. Six more children followed in quick succession though the youngest child, Douglas, born in 1926 was either stillborn or did not survive to his first birthday.

I have such admiration for my poor Step-Gran – how did she cope with raising eleven children in her tiny two bedroomed cottage? All the children in her care became hard- working and highly respected members of society. They received a good education and followed their paths in life guided by her strict moral code of conduct and traditional family values. All, that is, bar one. He was the rebel and black sheep of the family. I know that he caused her heartache but she loved him nevertheless and forgave him his indiscretions as only a good mother can. To raise 10 children so successfully is a supreme achievement considering the restrictions and conditions she battled against on a daily basis. It’s a shame that her wayward son is the only person who people remember and still talk about to this day. She deserves a more fitting legacy.

The cottages didn’t have the luxuries we take for granted today. They had a large coal-burning Yorkshire ranges which dominated the main room and provided the only source of heat. There was an oven to the side of the fire where most of the meals were cooked. The cottages had no hot water supply or bathrooms or indoor toilets. At the end of the Chemical Yard there was a small outdoor building housing just three toilets to cater for six cottages. Two families shared a toilet but I can never remember any quarrels or arguments about toilet cleaning etc. The toilet doors were ill-fitting and I remember the icy cold chill that blew through the gaps in the door – in winter, it wasn’t a place to loiter! A huge nail on the inside of the door contained torn up sheets of old newspapers for use as toilet paper. The papers were mainly the Sheffield ‘Star’ or the ‘News of the World’. It was great fun in the summer sitting there and trying to match up the torn pieces of paper so that I could make sense of the stories I wasn’t supposed to read!

Gran’s cottage was sandwiched between the Pashleys and the Nicholsons. The Nicholson family was large (about 14 children in total I think, including two sets of twins). Pamela and Mary Nicholson were born just 14 days after my birth. We were great friends and spent many happy hours playing outdoors together – if the sun was out then so were we! One day we were out playing in the yard when my Gran came out of her front door. I was used to seeing her dressed in her working clothes and practical shoes so my mouth must have dropped open in astonishment to see her in all her ‘finery’. She was wearing a mid-length fur coat with a smart knee-length skirt showing below the hem of her coat. Her shoes were sturdy but fashionable with a chunky heel and she wore thick lisle stockings with rim-rod straight seams. Perched jauntily on the side of her head was a tiny pillbox hat and she carried a pair of gloves and a clutch bag. There was the faintest suggestion of face powder brushed over her nose and cheeks, and just a hint of pale pink lipstick on her lips.

She made her way up the stone- flagged path. Then, even more astonishing, was the sight of a shiny black taxi trundling its way down the track from Queen Victoria Road and gliding to a stop at the top of the path. The smartly dressed driver stepped out of the taxi and opened the door for Gran to climb elegantly inside. As we three children watched in silent awe, the taxi, with its precious passenger, slowly made its way back up the track. This track is now the tarmacked continuation of Back Lane.

As soon as I could I bombarded my mom with questions about what I had seen. Now my mom would always answer and explain any of my frequent questions as fully as possible, but she seemed rather reticent on this occasion. I persevered however, I discovered that my Gran had gone to vote. Apparently, she would have placed across on a piece of paper showing which political party she believed should govern the country and her cross would even help decide who would be the next prime minister!

How important was that! No wonder Gran had found it necessary to dress for the occasion. The suffragettes had fought for her right to vote, and she hadn’t let them down!

If I remember correctly, my mum told me the transport to the polling stations was provided, if required, by one of the political parties. A person’s vote was strictly confidential so I expect that the political parties involved may have believed that their offer of transport would gain them votes though I doubt that my Gran would have fallen for that kind of flattery! We owned a car so, when my dad and brother came home from work, mom was going to go with them to cast her vote. I believe that our polling station was based somewhere in Bradway. I was intrigued by the whole business and asked many questions but I quickly realised that the whole subject of politics were shrouded in secrecy.

Our friends and neighbours in the Chemical Yard shed all of their life events with each other and discuss the most personal and intimate details on a daily basis. Politics however was strictly taboo. There is such a huge contrast between their stoic silence and the heated debates and public discussions which take place nowadays. I never found out who received my Gran’s vote and it was several years later before my parents eventually trusted me enough to reveal who received their loyal support. So strong was their belief that their vote was highly private and confidential that I still respect their wishes and their trust in me safe, for even now, I’m not telling!

I had almost finished writing this story when I received a very sad news that Jean had died. I wondered whether to alter my story but I feel quite certain that she would have been delighted to read my memories of her and her family. So, I dedicate it to her with my love.

Anne White (née Russell)

April 2015