MEMORIES OF OLD KNOTTINGLEY

recalled by

FRANK WEBSTER CHAMBERS

Published in memory of Frank Webster Chambers with the
kind permission of his Grandson, Carey Jonathan Chambers

BOOK THREE

A MEMORY JOG

Dedicated to Eva Webster Reynolds

Foreword

"Declare if thou knowest it all."
Job 38:18

I often feel that my Grandfather, Frank Chambers, knows it all about old Knottingley, judging by his anthologies. I have been completely amazed at their success, and I have no doubt that this, his third booklet, will be just as pleasing. I am, at the age of 15, far too young for his work to bring back memories to me, though I know many people have immensely enjoyed reading them.

On a much sadder note my Grandfather's sister, Eva Reynolds, nee Chambers, died on August 14th, 1995 at the age of 68.

For quite some time I have researched my family history and my success would have been less extensive without Eva's invaluable help. In fact those afternoons when I sat with Eva, listening to her reminisce whilst sipping Earl Grey tea will remain some of my happiest memories of her.

I dedicate this work to her memory and I hope very much that everyone will gain as much pleasure from reading it as I have.

Carey J. Chambers

We're going on a memory jog, for my anthology Part Two
To try and evoke nostalgia, that could be of interest to you.

Did you ever go parading, out at Brotherton on Dish Hill?
Or did you stroll round Pontefract, your Sunday nights to kill?

Did you perchance meet your partner, the one who said, "I will"?
If you did, I hope sincerely, that he or she is with you still.

If not, you'll have your memories, of that I have no doubt
They're yours to keep and cherish, as the years just peter out.

We're walking home from Pont' tonight, the skin-yard must be passed
Let's speed things up and hurry by, before we're poison gassed!

Having safely passed the skin-yard, there's still more gloom to tell
The sewage works can't be by-passed, so that's another awful smell.

Those were the penalties you paid, those nasty poison-gases
For venturing up to Pontefract, and trying to steal their lasses!

Did you do your shopping, at Naylor's High Class Store?
I'm afraid we never shopped there - the reason was, too poor.

Did your Ma make meat and tatie pie, in a big enamel bowl?
And was it held up in the middle, with a kind of totem pole?

It had fancy pastry pieces, arranged upon the lid
They said that underneath each one, a piece of meat was hid.

If you think it so peculiar, why mother played these games
And wonder if it's true or not, then go and ask Tommy James.

I'm off to Higgins on Hill Top, we need a cycle lamp
Then I'll call at Jory's Chemist, to get some tablets for the cramp.

They called my Granddad Cobbler Daw, and he sank a pint or two
My Granny gobbled Guinness, because it was "good for you"!

His shoe repairs were made to last, with three head nails and all
They were no kind of footwear, for a wedding or a ball.

I had a Great-aunt Lily, men's socks she used to knit
At the same time also reading, and she talked a little bit.

Weighing up the pros and cons, this was really no mean feat!
For she had to use four needles, to make those covers for your feet.

Who remembers Everett's shop, at the end of Gaping Row?
Norman used to serve you, when his father got too slow.

We had a great big long tin bath, in the yard hung on the wall
It was dragged before the fireside, when you got your bathtime call.

Or maybe you were lucky, with ceramic tiled ablution
Or did you stand out in the rain?, the economical solution!

The kid-catcher is on his way, Quick!, run inside you fool
If he gets his eyes upon you, he'll drag you off to school.

Mrs. Leeman's shop we visited, on our journeying to school
A treasure-cave her window, over which we used to drool.

It really was a sorry day, when that ladies life was ended
And the sad end of this saga, no-one was ever apprehended.

Hands up! tell me no porkies, or your Maker you won't meet
Tell me, did you ever, use the pawnshop in the Street?

Did you, when you entered, and likewise, when coming out
Look right and left to ascertain, that no-one was about?

If you did, I can assure you, it was certainly no disgrace
Just another way of trying, to feed another hungry face.

Was your ice-cream from Valenti's, or from Massarella's van
Or Walls' and Eldorado's, "Stop me and buy one" man?

With baby's pram and empty sack, it's off down Gashouse Lane
To fill your bag cram-full of coke, all sizes cost the same.

Take it home and break it up, then mix it with your coal
No cold-weather payments then, if sick or on the dole.

You're going pulling peas tomorrow, it's a holiday from school
Were you a kneeler or a stander, or did you use a stool?

I'll bet you put the big ones, inside your jacket lining
And when you'd pulled your quota, you were parched and nearly pining.

Did you catch scarlet fever, or chicken-pox and mumps?
Did you go to school in winter, in a pair of leaky pumps?

"There's a dog in't yard at So-and so's", my brain is in a spin
Mrs. So-and-so's not got a dog, or a yard to keep it in.

It's pay up at the Co-op this week, poor rent man's had it lean
The packy's dollar's vanished, he'll be more likely heard than seen.

Don't go near the canal bank, the Iron Man there does lurk
And if you get too near the edge, he'll drag you 'neath the murk.

We passed a line of nappies, "Like cat's arse!" mother said
I've never seen a square cats arse!, what was inferred instead?

I'll just consult the rule book, what does it have to say
When a thing that should be white, goes a certain shade of grey?

Was salmon and cucumber, the favourite dish for you?
Or great big suet dumplings, all drowning in the stew?

You know that cotton wool stuff, they made at Jackson's Glass
I know not what its use was, on that I've had to pass.

If you manage to discover, and Eddy Thorpe's about
Tell him with bell and microphone, to give us all a shout.

When you hear his fog-horn voice, you wont be left in doubt
It doesn't matter where you are, he'll search your lug 'ole out!

I've just acquired an orange rope, from a certain Mister Wray
Lots of projects I have promised, for that length of string today.

A lasso first and foremost, like the one used by Tom Mix
Then I'm going to rope a dogie, like that fellow on the flicks.

That plan proved a failure!, the rope it starts to fray
Ana all that I am left with, is a pile of orange hay.

I'll give the rest to sister, to make a skipping rope
With luck it might just shut her gob!, you can always live in hope!

We're visiting Matt Birkitt's yard, he was a man of steel
With luck we're going to watch him, put a rim upon a wheel.

It was a tricky operation, and if you've never seen it done
I'll just try and explain it - you'll then be a wiser one.

The wooden wheel is on the deck, the steel rim in the fire
"How is he going to fit it on?", you rightfully enquire.

The rim by now is getting hot, and starting to expand
He carefully slips it on the wheel, just like a barrel band.

It's suddenly cooled with the water, and quickly starts to shrink
Then tightens just like magic, quite clever, don't you think?

Was that Alfie Spiers we saw, who passed us on his bike?
A paper man, I'm sad to say, you will no more see the like.

No matter where you chanced to live, from here to Timbuctoo
That man would always manage, to get the paper through to you!

Sports Day at school tomorrow, I hated it!, did you?
Could you see the sense in running, when a steady walk will do?

I'm called on for my first race, with care I placed my sack
By the time I'd struggled into it, the rest were almost back!

The next race was a disaster - they called it egg and spoon
By the time that I'd completed, man was half-way to the moon!

Next, the three-legged race, for this I'd better planned
As my mate tied us together, with a piece of good strong band.

The whistle went, we stumbled, fell head first to the ground
A kind of losing hat-trick, the best excuse I've found!

The bijou mantle is on the blink, I've jabbed it with a match
It's just a ball of woven dust, impossible to patch.

Nip for one to Haiking's, and some paraffin for the lamp
A pack of segs from Merritt's, then to Hepworth's for a stamp.

Vanilla slips from Backhouse's - we're having them for tea
With home-made bread and dripping, how lucky can you be?

The wireless has gone wonky - our accumulator's flat
George Sykes or Jacky Hiorns, will soon rectify us that.

Bagley's buzzers started whining, the workforce rushes out
After handling red-hot bottles, they've earned their corn no doubt.

Do you remember Wireless Walter, that erstwhile radio buff?
He was always in a hurry, but never out of puff.

With a radio underneath each arm, for vending or repair
A modern day Marconi, with lots of valves to spare.

My sister's gone to Horncastle's, to buy herself some wool
She's started doing cork-work, through a bobbin that she'll pull.

Mr. Taylor's got a cig machine, a really grand affair
You pop a shilling in the slot, and twenty Players drop out there.

Tucked away inside each pack, you'll find a ha'penny there
Plus a real nice cigarette card - no better value anywhere.

Did you hear such funny sayings, that you couldn't comprehend?
Like "Long lanes have no turnings" and 
"You're being driven round the bend"

How can you be driven, if you're not even in a car
And the lane that has no turning, where is it, and how far?

"Put your best foot forward", if so, which is your worst?
It's got to be the back one, one step, then it's the first.

"It's time to pull your socks up", I can't!, I've got none on
"Then shake your bloody feathers!", I would, but I'm no swan.

"Well! pull yourself together!, a pair of curtains I am not
"I wouldn't talk to that crowd - they all pee in the same pot!"

Mum's reading her 'Red Letter', as a sock she tries to darn
All about Maria Martin, and her murder in the barn.

It wasn't just a normal barn, but one completely red
And murderous William Corder, made poor Maria dead.

Did you cross the Ramper, pass Gander Haven Farm?
A very popular walk it was, for couples, arm in arm.

We remember well John Miller, he walked his bike, not rode
The reason being simple, he could not self unload!

Pat Driscoll, we must not forget, another Memory Man
He kept the playing fields, absolutely spick and span.

Pristine toilets at all times, immaculate flower beds too
To ride through on your bicycle, was more than you dared do!

A sergeant-major voice you'd hear, with a message loud and clear
"If you want to ride your cycle, lad, then clear off out of here!"

We tried to build ourselves a bike, from pieces off the tip
I fell off and badly skinned my knee - the reward, an ear'ole clip!

There's a sand boat in the Bendles, we'll watch them emptying today
Two men with great big shovels, will start to move it all away.

A massive skip is lowered, the question that you ask
However two men managed, this Herculean task?

The skip, when fully laden, is lifted by the crane
Replaced promptly by an empty one, and the process starts again.

Time now to leave the Bendles, what will be our next stop?
Next door to the Commercial, Mrs. Tomlinson's small shop.

They say that Macnamara's, was the finest in the land
But we know a dammed sight better! - it was Sammy Marshall's band!

They played for beer and baccy - or so the legend goes
How much they drank and also smoked, the Lord Almighty knows.

They played everywhere at Christmas - as traditional as mince pies
And they must have been quite special, to earn the logo Silver Prize.

Did you tease old Timmy, as he trundled with the fish?
Where would you have finished up, if he ever got his wish?

It's tooth pull day tomorrow, the dentist will be there
As we queue cringing in the ink room, on our little wooden chair.

The gum is jabbed and frozen - that's said to stop the pain
I thought he'd pulled my toes off, they'll not see me again!

It's flitting day tomorrow, we're off up England's Lane
Into a brand new council house, that won't let in the rain.

It's got a lovely shiny oven, and a smashing big long bath
A gate, some steps, a handrail, and a nice long garden path.

This definitely is Shangri-La - or at least it is to me
A kind of mini Promised Land, thank you, Knottingley U. D. C.

It's black lead day tomorrow, and the step to donkey brick
Tread you not upon it, or you'll earn yourself a kick!

The exodus to England's Lane, is just about complete
Shopping is the problem now, so far out of the street.

But Mrs. Mowbray opens up, and Coopers bakehouse too
Plus Mrs. Hewson's little shop, she sold a thing or two.

It's going to rain directly, you ask how can I tell
Drifting from the 'chemics', there comes an awful smell.

This, our elders tell us, is a certain sign of rain
Back to the drawing board with that - the forecast's failed again!

Old Dak, the travelling photo-man, is up and down the street
Taking shots of everyone, a kind of cameraman on the beat.

He used to wander round the town, snapping everything he saw
A kind of T.S. Lowry, catching society in the raw.

He takes snaps of mucky rascals, daubed up with jam and snot
Just what they chanced to look like, he did not care a jot.

Tommy Garner was our champion - at Sparrow Castle he did train
They should have put him in with Hitler, and stopped his little game.

I hope that you have quite enjoyed, another backward flip
Just remember that your memory, is like a log-book on a ship.

A record of your passing, of your struggles, luck and strife
As you plough the sea of destiny, that's called your human life.

My next collection's dealing, with the years that span the war
And at the end I hope you sing, "This was worth fighting for!"

I'm going to the Palace now, one of my weekly trips
To eat baked beans with the cowboys, the to Carl Clayton's for some chips!

---

Written by Frank Webster Chambers
Edited by Carey J. Chambers
November 1995

Reproduced here with the kind permission of Carey Chambers