Notes from my father to go with a book on old Nottinghamshire.

The lamplighter carried a 1-1/2" diameter pole about 15 feet long, made of hardwood and topped off by a brass tube. This tube had a reservoir in it which fed a wick which lit the gas supplied by a series of pipes below the sidewalks. A linen 'mantle' over the gas jet and lit by the flaming wick provided quite a reasonable area of light from the lamp itself.

The lamp fitting, made from a metal frame fitted to the top of a 15-foot fluted cast iron post, about 6" diameter at the base and 4" at the top, had four glass sides.

The lamplighter's pole had a fitting at the very top with which he could push up a trigger and open a valve on the gas feed pipe at dusk and pull down the trigger to turn off the light at or just after dawn.

There were two cast iron arms near the top of the lamp post against which a ladder was placed when an operator from the gas company did his rounds in the daylight hours to wash the glass windows of the lamp, change damaged mantles and shattered glasses.

[There were still some street lights like this when I was a child. I don't remember seeing a lamplighter, although I must have, but I retain a mental image of an old fellow in work clothes and the ubiquitous '"flat 'at" (what you might call a driving or golfing cap). with his ladder against the arms of the light and his cleaning "shammy" (chamois) in his hand, cleaning the lamp glass. The lamps in our city were painted "corporation green," referring to the corporation of city government. My maternal grandmother finally changed from gas to electric light after my grandfather died and her children wanted to buy her a television set for company--that would have been in the late fifties, I should think, perhaps even early sixties. The War still tended to hold up progress, even a good 20 years or so after its end.]

More to follow as I can type it.

-- Anonymous, July 03, 2002

Answers

Every colliery village had its own version of this "stately old man" [referring to a passage in the book]. In our case at Welbeck it was a chirpy little man with a Charlie Chaplin moustache. He was a kind of credit controller of the 1920s and early 30s. His judgment decided the value of a credit note he would issue to "the lady of the house" to exchange for clothes for the family from his employer. He had a large shop in Warsop, our nearest town, where Mumtook us to be fitted out with clothes and shoes.

The credit note, or Provident Cheque as it was known, was usually for a maximum of 4 pounds, the equivalent of eight days work for a miner in the late 1920s. This was a time when the exchange rate for 1 pound was 5 US dollars. [It is currently about $1.40 to the pound.]

I can remember this detail because my Uncle Jim Brookes was a mine manager at Oakmont, Pennsylvania, and he sent me $5 every Christmas which converted to within a few pence of one pound.

-- Anonymous, July 03, 2002

The "Post" was Nottinghamshire's evening newspaper and I delivered around 50 copies after school on weekdays to regular customers. The only "Special" I remember was on November the 15th, 1928 when Mr. George Carr called at my school and asked my headmaster Mr. Wood to release me at 2 p.m. to cover the village of 350 houses with the news of the murder of Samuel Fell Wilson, owner of a large grocery and hardware store store in Warsop, our nearest town two miles away.

He was shot at close range through the side window of his "bull-nose" Morris two-seater with a single shot from a 4.10 mm shotgun.

It was obviously someone he knew as he certainly wouldn't have stopped for a stranger on a lonely lane when he was carrying a large amount of money collected from customers in local villages.

I sold a whole batch of 3 packs of papers (156 copies) before dark on that November afternoon.

The County Police, at the end of three weeks of investigation, had made no progress and Chief Superintendent Berrett of Scotland Yard was sent up to Warsop to take charge of inquiries. He was an impressive figure with a broad-brimmed slouch hat and a flowing grey moustache with a van Dyke beard.

He also failed to come up with enough to charge a suspect, although several were brought in for investigation.

Years later in his serialised memoirs in the national newspaper, Sunday People, he ruefully admitted that it was a lost cause looking for a murderer who owned a 4.10 shotgun in an area of Sherwood Forest where that particular sporting weapon "was as common as umbrellas!"

-- Anonymous, July 03, 2002

As an 8-year old at Mansfield Woodhouse in 1924 we lived next door to my maternal grandma. She woke me every morning at 6 a.m. by tapping my bedroom window with a clothes prop. [A clothes prop is a long piece of wood, probably 2 x 2 or 1 x 2, with a notch in one end which was--probably still is--used to prop up the clothes line when weighed down by heavy items.] I dressed quickly, went next door and shared breakfast with her--always a thick slice of salty home-fed bacon and an egg from her Rhode Island Red chickens.

The bacon was cut from a "flitch" or side hanging from a hook in the kitchen. By 6:30 a.m. Sid Woodthorpe would arrive with his two-gallon aluminium ["churn" or milk can] with its lid and carrying handle. We could hear his call of "Milk-O" as he entered the long 'yard' which serviced our row of 12 cottages.

A variety of jugs, bowls and basins waited on windowsills for Sid to pour in the required amount og milk at each house.

He measured the quantity from half-pint and pint containers which hung on brackets on the side of his carrying can.

His 'milk-float' and little chestnut mare, Dolly, waited at the top of the yard for Sid's return and by then I was already inside the float holding the reins.

For the next hour or so I "drove" Dolly on the rest of her round whilst Sid went from one house to another carrying his can.

(I wonder if the term to "carry the can," or take the responsibility, dates back to Sid's milk trade!)

Two twenty-gallon tall, wide-based churns stood in the float and Sid returned to refill his can at various points in the round.

My school-mates were very envious of me as I drove Dolly along the lanes, giving it lots of "Whoa, Dolly" and "Giddup, Dolly."

I often wonder if they twigged that Dolly stopped at all the same places and waited for Sid whether I was aboard or not!

-- Anonymous, July 03, 2002

There was a branch of Mansfield & Sutton Cooperative Society on Woodhouse High Street, half a mile from our cottage and Grandma, Mum and Auntie Elsie were all faithful members. I still remember my Mum's and Auntie's membership numbers--1127 and 12828 respectively. Some years later Jennie and I also became members (37603) at Sheffield.

Dividend was paid annually and varied according to how the Society's trading had gone the year before.

The highest dividend I recall was half-a-crown in the pound in the early 1930s. [About 25% return on spending.]

Before the introduction of "loudspeakers" or amplifiers early domestic radio (or 'wireless') sets had the means of sharing reception with two or three family members by using headphones. These were a very early type of the sophisticated headphones used by modern D.J.s.

My earliest introduction to radio was in 1924 as a 7-year old when I was taken to spend a week's holiday with a 'mad professor' type of uncle who was chauffeur and engineer to a colliery manager at Treeton, South Yorkshire. He had constructed a radio from the drawing in a radio magazine and a kit of parts.

Reception depended on your skill in fiddling the contact between the 'cat's whisker' and crystals. I remember the call sign of BBC Radio was 2 LO. This identification came from a dismembered voice crackling through the headphones held to my ears by Uncle George. Although he drove and maintained a huge black and silver Wolsely for his boss his own roadster was a Morgan air-cooled three- wheeler with an open 'cockpit.'

He looked quite the part in a leather helmet, goggles and a long leather coat. Aunt Fanny (believe it or not--I never knew any other lady with that name outside literary characters) was not so well protected against inclement weather.

She was a tall prim lady and I remember her sitting beside Uncle George in an ankle-length black coat buttoned to the throat, a straw hat which she secured from take-off by placing a black chiffon scarf over the crown and tying it under her chin.

Against all the odds my Aunt still managed to look like a dowager Duchess while Uncle George still looked like the chauffeur he really was!

-- Anonymous, July 03, 2002

[Apparently in disagreement with something from the book.] A ferret owner would never need to steal cats to feed his working pets. They were rewarded with offal from the rabbits they bolted into their master's purse-nets. Certainly I went on my rabbiting expeditions with my ferrets down the front of my shirt-they were never dangerous except when working and enjoyed the warmth and comfort of their situation.

After all, a ferret in a box with a strap over the shoulder would be an absolute give-away to the local gamekeepers.

Mushrooms were always a welcome bonus in a day's ferreting in the 1930's. but a much rarer fungus of the countryside was a 'bluey ring.' 'Bluestalks' is not a true description of this culinary delight--some had violet-blue stems, some had the same coloured undersides to their flatter-than-mushroom light brown tops and some were coloured in both areas.

One common factor in both species was that they invariably grew in rings which can vary from a few feet to several yards. Once one is found and the arc of the ring is established it is easy to follow the circumference of the whole circle by finding the first bluey. Unlike the mushroom which stands out snow-white in green meadows the bluestalk's territory is in longer, damp rank grass under or near deciduous trees (never conifers and seldom in the open) in low-lying areas near streams or rivers.

They hid themselves in the lower stems of undergrowth as though they were deliberately secretive. Comparing them with mushrooms for taste and texture is like comparing cod's roe with caviar!

Jennie's brother Jim and I knew the location of several rings within a five-mile radius of our village, mainly on the Duke of Portland's estate around Welbeck Abbey. We never passed on our secret rings and were as jealous of our knowledge as Italian truffle- hunters.

-- Anonymous, July 03, 2002

Wow! This is great stuff, OG! I'm anxious to read more.

-- Anonymous, July 03, 2002

I'm with Meems. This is wonderful stuff.

-- Anonymous, July 03, 2002

More! More!

And thank you.

-- Anonymous, July 03, 2002

Oh good! I'm SO glad you like it.

I spoke to an ex-MP today. The MP and my Dad used to collaborate on, um, sticking it to the local council. She would know where the documents were that Dad needed to support his various contentions. What she said over and over is he was a wonderfully interesting man who had a great talent for writing. What you see above was written within the last 12 months, i.e., mostly in his 85th year. I have some other stuff written when he was younger--some REALLY evocative stuff--and I promise to dig it out and post it after this lot is done. About a third or quarter more, I should think.

My cousin Pete e-mailed me to tell me just as they got to the grave site, the skies opened up and torrents poured down. He said he almost laughed out loud because he could actually SEE my Dad looking down and saying, "Get wet, ya buggers!" Probably quite true. He would have been quite happy to see my brother's wife and my cousin getting their new suits, hats, shoes and purses soaking wet. They HAD to be there to throw in a handful of dirt, of course, but I had made sure my single red rose was on top. Bless his heart, the funeral director had TAPED it on so nobody would "accidentally" knock it off. (He knows the family well. . .)

The death notice, by the way, that I had put in papers all over (including the Telegraph), said "Father of [brother], adored "Dad" of [Old Git]. . ." And the rector mentioned only one name--mine--and used a lot of the eulogy text, but not the tape. None of Dad's blood relatives [except brother] or neighbors went to the "afterwards," only Mother's relatives. Effing vultures, go anywhere for a free cup of tea and a sandwich. All bloods and neighbors said they couldn't trust themselves with brother or cousin. One neighbor had to be there because he's a co-exec and had some part in the funeral, but I bet he was pretty much ostracized. Hymns: All Things Bright and Beautiful and Abide With Me. New on his and Mum's gravestone: "All is well."

The funeral direc got all the names and addresses of people who went-- there were even 7 or 8 old gits who worked in the pit with Dad and had either been in touch with him since he returned to the area or remembered him "as the best goalie Welbeck ever had." The FD will send me the names and addresses and I shall send a note to all of the people who went or sent wreaths--except THAT side of the family, of course.

-- Anonymous, July 03, 2002

The villagers of Gotham until fairly recent times, had something of a reputation for being a bit 'thick.' This dates back to what was folklore in the days of King John and his Magna Carta in 1215. On page 32 [of the book] they refer in passing to the "Wise Men of Gotham"

With very good reason! Five men of Gotham village conspired to capture a cuckoo which belted out its call from the centre of a large bush on the edge of their village. They planned to contain it within a wall of stone which they began to build with great urgency.

They were most amazed when, on the fifth evening after working day and night, the cuckoo flew over their heads and out of sight, taking his call with him!

One of Grandad John ----'s last jobs as a stonemason was the decorative Portland stone on the Methodist Church at Welbeck Colliery Village which was completed in 1926 during the General Strike. After the Strike Dad was fired from Sherwood Colliery at Mansfield Woodhouse as an agitator. (He was a committee man on the Miner's Union.) He got a job at Welbeck on the condition that he moved to the village into a colliery-owned house.

I was a boy soprano at the Parish Church in Mansfield Woodhouse at the time and joined the choir at Welbeck where I sang at Communion, Matins and Evensong with Sunday School in the afternoon.

Even so I still transferred allegiance to the Methodist Church every Wednesday evening. That was "Band of Hope" night and it seemed no big deal to "Sign the Pledge" and repeat its promise once a week in exchange for slightly stale sandwiches and cakes and fruit drinks served by Sister Louise, a tiny lady in grey uniform and a grey silk head-dress. The "eats" were supplied by bakers from the nearby town and the fruit drinks by the colliery company.

Why was food so important? The mine was only working two days a week and money and food were a bit scarce!

I remember Ollerton from the 1930s before the mine was developed. The original village was on the main coach road from Doncaster to Newark and all the inns mentioned were of the type described in the "Pickwick Papers" by Charles Dickens.

The "Hop Pole Inn" in fact was kept in a time warp until the mid-1930s and in the main public bar the huge open fireplace with its two ingle nooks were exactly as they had been through the 17th to the end of the 20th centuries. The floors were 2ft square white flagstones or, in the smaller rooms, 6 inch square red quarry tiles, all scrubbed to a high degree of cleanliness.

The service bar had lots of carved polished wood and bevelled mirrors. There was a maypole in the grounds of the end and teams of schoolchildren danced in and out and round and round plaiting the coloured ribbon which hung from the dome at the top of the pole into an elaborate design around the pole itself.

There was the annual May fair with huge gleaming steam engines with safety chocks under their six-foot diameter steel wheels keeping them safely stationary as they produced the steam pressure to drive the roundabouts, steamboat swings, and in later years by means of speeding, slapping leather belts transferred power to steam turbines, which in turn generated electricity for the hundreds of colored lamps and electric organs on the various rides.

Then there was Billy Wood's boxing booth which toured all the fairs ib the Midlands and Nottinghamshire. The first time I soaked up the atmosphere of this tough, raw school of the "noble art" was when I was a 14 years old grocer's boy in 1931 and the show was at Warsop Fairgrounds.

-- Anonymous, July 03, 2002