INTHOSEDAYS

Around Barrowford.

My parents had met at a local roller skating rink, later to be the Imperial Ballroom, in Carr Road , Nelson, after my father had returned from the War having served in a cavalry regiment. At this time, roller skating was a popular pastime and would remain so for the next twenty years.

On marrying, they had set up home in the village of Barrowford, a mile and a half from the town of Nelson. The village nestled in a valley through which ran Pendle Water, a small stream which eventually joined the River Ribble. Barrowford was divided into three areas. Reedyford, on the south side, was next to Nelson and a ford in days long ago would cross the stream where the reeds were. Barrowford itself was in the centre where the stream was crossed by the barrow or ancient burial mound. At the northern end, where we lived, was Higherford.

Pendle Hill was some five miles away to the west. The small village of Blacko, with its famous folly, a landmark built on the highest hill , was a mile and a half on the road to Gisburn. The latter place gave its name to the main road through the village.

The house where we lived, and where I was born, was one of two terraced back to back cottages in Pinfold, a short lane leading off from Gisburn Road as it started to climb the hill to Blacko. At the bottom of Pinfold was the 'Roman Bridge', so named by local people although it was a medieval packhorse bridge and, in olden times, would have superseded the ford over the stream.

As you crossed over the humpback of the bridge, in front of you was Crowtrees Farm. This was an 'olde world' cottage with a timeless garden to the side and rear, where hollyhocks and sunflowers bloomed among the white rock flowers. Blue lobelia smothered the walls. It was truly a storybook cottage and garden. Crowtrees was in Foreside, a short lane running parallel to the river.

Looking left from the 'Roman' bridge you would see Foreside. Half way along it there were three cottages and, by the last of these, a path ran off over the hill to a large field behind Higherford Mill. The mill chimney is still in situ. Along the right hand side of the path was a high wall, on the other side of which , was Brookdell, an imposing house standing in its own extensive wooded grounds.

To the right of Crowtrees farmhouse was a barn and a large area which, at one time would have been the farmyard. At the far end was another farm building which was probably a shippon and, nearby, in the centre of the area , there were three very large lime trees. These, in summer when their flowers were in bloom, were crawling with 'drunken' bumble bees. The bees were intoxicated by the nectar secreted by this particular specie of lime tree. They were incapable of flight for some considerable time.

Leaving these behind, you would find the way narrowed to a cart track which entered the edge of a large meadow through a five-barred gate with the river on the right. The cart track, also a public footpath, followed the river with the large meadow on the left.

A quarter of a mile along this track, brought you to a waterfall. From here, by operating a sluice-gate, water could be drawn off through a short tunnel which ran to the part of meadow furthest from the river. The water then surfaced to become a four foot wide stream, running the length of the meadow, to fill the mill dam, or lodge, as it was locally known, which was situated behind Crowtrees. In olden days, the stream supplied the waterwheel at Higherford Mill. More recently it filled the boilers for driving the steam engine. From the dam, the stream was taken under the grounds of Brookdell to emerge as an open watercourse once again behind the mill.

At five o'clock each evening during the working week, a man walked from the mill to the waterfall and lowered a sluice-gate slide by inserting and turning a winding handle. This slowed down the supply to the dam. Covering the sluice-gate was a grille with vertical bars. This protected the mechanism from large pieces of floating debris. It was here that local children could gather apples that had floated down river from overhanging branches in the orchard of Watermeetings Farm further upstream.

A short distance on from the waterfall were the Holme Lea tennis courts. They were behind the wooden bungalow where the Sharp family lived . The Sharps were local farmers. The front part of the 'wood hut', as it was known locally, had been made into a small shop. It had an open window where soft drinks and sweets were sold to walkers, who, on summer evenings and at weekends, enjoyed the lovely countryside. In those days walkers were numbered in hundreds.

Next to the shop window was an electric shock machine. For a penny in the slot you could have some scary fun for a couple of minutes until the time ran out. The lads and lasses would join hands in a semi-circle and let the current flow through them all. One of them would hold a metal knob on the machine whilst, at the other end of the human chain, someone would operate a moveable handle which would increase or decrease the current. It was very popular, although today, the authorities would probably consider it dangerous.

Leaving the 'wooden hut' behind and following the sycamore shaded path beside the river would bring the walker to some of the loveliest countryside imaginable; the Watermeetings, just beyond the farm of that name . Here, as the name implies, two streams met to form Pendle Water which was in a valley surrounded by rolling hills and overlooked by Utherstone. This was a wooded hill populated by alder, oak, birch, hazel, holly and ash. Towards the top of the hill, the trees became sparse and gave way to heathland, purple heather in the autumn.

Almost in the centre of the wood was the 'Girl Guide's Cave', a small hollow in a rocky part where farmers of years ago had removed material with which to build their dry stone walls. No one could tell how the name originated, nor could any one say how many holes had been dug by school children seeking the treasure they believed to be buried there. Similarly, no one knew by whom, or why, any treasure might have been buried at this spot.

From a footpath in the wood you could look down through the trees and see the swimming pool which had been made by youngsters damming the river. In the summer the pool would be crowded with children and teenagers, the Watermeetings being a popular picnicking spot for families.

Onward, past the the Watermeetings, you would eventually arrive at the tiny village of Roughlee with its so-called witches cottages and Roughlee Old Hall. Roughlee also had a waterfall, watercourse, dam and mill, though the latter had been derelict for many years.

Walking along the country road through Roughlee, by the waterfall, were Waterfall Cottages, a row of four houses. Carrying on, you would reach Happy Valley with its one house and shop and tea gardens on the other side of the road. Happy Valley shop was situated at a crossroads; turn left and you were on the road to Nelson and Burnley; straight on for Newchurch-in Pendle (more witch country); whilst, turning right would take you past Thorneyholme and Narrowgates weaving mill and on to Barley.

It was at Thorneyholme Cottage that an uncle and aunt lived. They kept hens and I used to walk from Barrowford to clean out two hen huts and then walk back again, a round journey of six or seven miles, for which I was given one shilling (five pence in today's money, but worth possibly ten times more in those days).

This then, was but a small part of the picture to be seen by my parents, relations and local people. For most, life was a struggle on low wages. Work was interspersed with unemployment. The cotton mills, which provided ninety per cent of the employment, were going through indifferent times. However, people accepted things as they were and enjoyed the simple things in life.

Exploring Our House

Within two years I had two sisters, Win And Mary. It was shortly after Mary's birth that I became aware of my own existence, aware of a wonderful feeling of well-being, of warmth of being wanted, conscious of the security of family life. I remember the quiet sound of my younger sister as it came, drifting over the warm summer air, from the house to where I was playing in Pinfold and I recall the contented cawing and clucking of the hens at Crowtrees Farm across the stream.

Shortly after my third birthday the family moved house from 12, Pinfold to the cottage just behind it, 259, Gisburn Road. This cottage was next to S.S. Peter and Paul's Catholic Church. The doorway to the cottage was tucked away in a corner where the steps of the church were at right angles to the cottage front. As in Pinfold cottage , there was no kitchen, and the sink, , or slopstone as it was called in those days, was under the window in the tiny single room. The slopstone was some three feet by two, and had two-inch deep sides. Slopstones were made by hollowing out a piece of sandstone. They were forerunners of the earthenware sinks which were very much .deeper. These later sinks were glazed cream inside and brown outside and, in turn, they were superseded by white-glazed sinks, long before the modern stainless-steel ones.

The fire-range was one of the many fitted in the rows of houses which were built to accommodate mill workers in Lancashire and Yorkshire. They were mass-produced in cast iron in ever-increasing numbers as the Industrial Revolution progressed. Some were made by foundries in Nelson, while others were made in Padiham at a foundry owned by cousins of my father who had moved from Kings Winsford and Stourbridge in Staffordshire where the iron industry had been founded for some time.

The fire-grate was some fifteen inches deep with three horizontal bars. On the left side was a boiler and, on the opposite side, there was a oven where bread and cakes were baked. Both boiler and oven had a tunnel beneath where red hot coals could be raked from the fire to give extra heat to either. Early ranges such as this were replaced by ones without a boiler or oven. These had slabs of different coloured tiles with a tiled hearth, wooden surrounds and mantle-pieces, and were known as 'low ranges'.

On the earlier ranges, above the oven, was a space where pans and kettles could be stored when not in use on the fire. At the top of the range, and as wide, was a stone lintel shelf. It jutted out from the wall by about six inches and, on it, were ornaments or a clock. Velvet runners with hanging tassels draped the front of the range.

Hanging behind the door was a bamboo pole with brass rings from which hung a draught-excluding curtain. This was usually made of velvet too, as were the Sunday best table covers, because the material was woven in many local mills, one could be bought at them at much reduced prices. The velvet was dyed at home, the favourite colour being red.

At this time bathrooms in cottages and terraced houses were very rare and so, each Friday evening (bath night), a small oval tin bath, with a handle at each end, was hauled from its hiding place at the back of the small pantry and placed in front of the fire. It was filled with water from the fire-place boiler and, being made of cast iron, the water was was always a rust colour. However, when cold water was added, the rust colour was somewhat diluted. In turn we were bathed and, as we grew older, each of us would ask to be bathed first as the water was warmer and certainly cleaner.

The living room was lit by gas which was the universal method at this time. Some of the lights were quite sophisticated, having globe mantles which were impregnated with a chemical which didn't burn away but lit up with an intense white heat. The larger and more expensive light fittings had ornate glass globes and pilot lights for easy lighting, and with hanging chains for turning the gas on and off.

The light in our cottage was only a simple fitting and had one large mantle. Chains were unnecessary as the ceiling was quite low so a tap sufficed to light and extinguish the gas. If the gas was turned on, and a match or a taper (a long, round waxed wick) was brought to it too late, there would be a loud 'pop' and often the mantle would have a hole blown in it with a consequent loss of light. The gas was wasted as the flame would blow through the hole. Dad would then take a small cardboard box from a cupboard and take out a new mantle, fitting it where the old one had been removed. We children were always amazed to see the silky, floppy net-like fabric on its circular burn proof fitting when lit for the first time, for it shrinked to a black shrivelled shape and then suddenly ballooned into a brilliant globe, once more filling the room with light.

Upstairs, above the living room, was a small bedroom where Dad, Mum and my sisters slept. Above this was a half-attic with a wooden balustrade across it. This was my bedroom and, from here, I could talk to my sisters until sleep brought silence. There was no gas lighting in the bedroom or in the attic so paraffin lamps were used on dark nights when we were taken to bed. Sometimes we would scare each other aided by the grotesque shadows cast by the lamp before it was hung on the wall.

I remember scaring my sisters all the more by reciting a poem I had learned at Infant's School :

All around the house is the jet-black night ,

It stares through the window pane,

It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light,

And it moves with the moving flame;

The shadow of the balustrade,

The shadow of the lamp,

And the shadow of the child that goes to bed;

All the crooked shadows, going tramp, tramp, tramp,

With the black night overhead.

Dad had a wind-up gramophone which, in those days, had a large horn some two feet in diameter. If we weren't tired when we were put to bed, we would shout down for Dad to play a record as a sort of lullaby. Dad had quite a lot of records, mainly light Classical music. Our favourite was a piece called 'Tango'.

As the months came and went my awareness of, and interest in the world around me quickly developed. I had an inquisitive nature and demanded answers to what puzzled and intrigued me. There was a window in my attic bedroom, and I wondered what could be seen from it. I could look out of the window of the bedroom below and see Gisburn Road with its horses and carts and the odd motor car. But I was sure that the view from the attic window would be more revealing as it was above the common gable-end of the cottage and church and high up.

Quietly dragging a chair to the window, I found that I could open the catch and, pushing the window open, I climbed out onto the sloping roof of the church porch. In the gutter were several tennis sized balls, maybe lost over a period of time, by children throwing them too high. Interest in the balls was soon lost in the discovery that I could at one end of the roof, look down on to Gisburn Road across which the Bridge Inn could be seen. A few steps in the other direction brought a view of Pinfold, directly below the house where we were born. I felt no fear on looking down from this height - as I had felt none when walking on top of the 'Roman' bridge. Who knows danger at this age? Repetition of this adventure was prevented by my Dad making sure that I couldn't open the catch again !

On my fourth birthday, I was given a toy which was my greatest possssion for some time. It had a four inch disc with coloured celluloid windows which could be rotated at a fast speed by holding a stem between the first two fingers and pressing a toothed, spring-loaded bar with the thumb. Behind the coloured windows was a flint which, giving off sparks, illuminated the windows. The faster the disc was made to rotate, the better the effect. During daylight I would open a bottom cupboard door, in the house, and partially shut it to exclude some of the daylight which made the toy more brilliant in the semi-darkness.

On warm summer days we were taken for walks. We went over the bridge, along the Foreside and up the path past Brookdell Wood. Here the watercourse emerged from a tunnel and flowed for a short distance before vanishing into another tunnel. This latter tunnel was in the wall at the back of the mill and, from this spot, we would sit and watch the water voles as they dropped from nicks in the stone-built banks to swim underwater. They left trails of silvery air rising to the surface.

It was so tranquil there, listening to the plopping of the voles, the hum of the bees working the abundant flowers and the relaxing, almost hypnotic, sound of the looms running in the nearby mill. Further up the hill, almost at the top, was the short, square mill chimney almost hidden by tall beech trees, the flue running underground from the mill, and halfway up the hill, was the mill owner's house. It was quite a large property, standing in extensive grounds, and was called Bankhouse.

On other evenings, when work was finished, my parents would take us children for 'walks on the bottoms', as the walk from the Roman' bridge to Holme Lea tennis courts was called. Mary, the youngest, was carried most of the way on Dad's shoulders. What happy and tranquil times these were for the whole family; the quiet lapping of Pendle Water wending it's way over stones and shingle, the plopping of the fish jumping for flies in the deeper parts, the calling of the waterhen and the duck on the mill dam,the song of the willow-warbler proclaiming it was summer, then quickly changing to a two-note warning should anything scare or pose a threat to it.

The hum of the wild bees would attract my attention. I would follow the flight of one and watch with fascination as it settled on a clover flower, its long tongue probing each floret in search of tiny drops of precious nectar. I was full of curiosity and wanted to learn more about these industrious, furry creatures with yellow and white bands round their bodies and some with orange tails. I marvelled at the variation in their markings.

Best of all I liked to watch the bees working the wild dog roses which grew in profusion on the edge of the path along the river. The way they would scurry over the stamens in the centre of the flower, vibrating their wings to disturb the pollen dust so that it could be easily collected, seemed something of a miracle to me. When their bodies had become yellow with pollen, they would comb themselves with their front legs moistening the dust with a drop of nectar to make it stick like yellow putty. Thus it was added to the ever-growing pellets in the 'pollen baskets' on their hind legs.

My thoughts would be interrupted as one of my parents would call me from some distance. They had walked on but, by running, I could soon be beside them where they waited at the waterfall. Here we would all gaze into the river, as though hypnotised by it, as it tumbled, whitening as it fell, into the boiling pool some twenty feet below. Our attention would be caught by the blue flash of a kingfisher darting through the curtain of falling water to reappear, seconds later, and fly off downstream with a fish held firmly in its beak.

Below the waterfall, and across the river, was a row of eight wooden posts. They were set upright in a pool and they acted as a breakwater in times of flood. Their purpose was to catch fallen trees and other floating debris to prevent the blocking of the bridges lower down. Originally eighteen inches square, these posts had rotted away. They were then only small stumps at the top and teetered at various angles. The deep pool was essential in flood time for it absorbed the weight of falling water to prevent it from scouring the river bed ever deeper and so undermining the wall at either side. The wall on the opposite bank was already slipping into the pool having been built in a one piece block of concrete on a clay base.

The depth of the water was maintained by a double row of huge stone blocks each four feet square and two feet deep. They were fastened together by thick iron bars bent at each end like giant staples set in holes packed with lead. Previous floods had moved some of the blocks out of place but the iron bars, though twisted and bent, still held them together.

Having rested at the 'falls, and being somewhat refreshed, we would then resume our walk and, arriving at the 'wood hut', we would take the path to the left where an old oak tree stood. It was a tree of some eighteen feet girth and though not high, its spread was considerable. Most of the thick branches were dead and pointed starkly skywards, but the smaller ones were leafy and the tree was capable of survival for quite some time . It was said that the dead branches had been struck by lightning in the past but the tree's condition was probably due to its age which was estimated, by local farmers, to be around five hundred years old. We would sit on the low dry-stone wall whilst we would pretend to smoke our paper 'pipes' which Mum had made from toffee wrappers, winding one end round her finger to make a bowl with a twisted stem. All about us were the sounds and scents of summer.

On our way back, we would walk along a hedge which marked the boundary of the large meadow on the opposite side of the river. The hedge was very old and the original ridge of earth where the trees had been planted was still visible. In addition to hawthorn trees, there were several large oaks and beeches where acorns and beech-mast could be gathered.

The hedge ended at the mill dam where a small overflow channel ran back to the river through a short tunnel beneath the footpath. Where the tunnel met the river there was a most magnificent beech tree. It was, by far the biggest for miles around. Its trunk was almost as thick as that of the old oak tree, and it had a beautifully smooth bark of varied hues of brown, green and silvery-grey, each colour changing subtly from one to the other. Half its roots ran under the footpath and into the meadow, whilst the rest plunged into the river bed below the stones and shingle.

Here among the masses of huge roots, a pair of stoats at play could occasionally be seen by the quiet observer, their supple bodies wrapping round the roots like fur rings as they intertwined this way and that . They had a plentiful supply of food : trout from the river, or rabbits of which there were hundreds living in the woods across the river.

The wood was owned by the farmer of Crowtrees, Tobias Taylor, known as 'Bye Taylor. He was a pleasant happy-go-lucky man who loved his way of life and didn't appear to have a care in the world. He would frequently stop what he was doing to pass the time of day or have a chat about the village news. He had two daughters, Mary and Ella, but he could not know, at this time, that Mary, the elder, would, in the space of a few years, die tragically after a short illness.

At Dicky Nook, a few hundred yards up Gisburn Road, the road forked; left for Blacko and right for Barnoldswick. A little way up this latter was a turn-off to the right where there was a five-barred gate with a stile which led across open fields . After a short distance was the canal. As it had been dug through rising ground, four locks had been built and our family would go for walks there to see the brightly painted barges. These barges mostly carried coal or grain and they were often pulled along by shire horses. Occasionally, an engine powered boat could be seen.

We would watch as a boat was sailed into the first lock. The two water-tight swinging lock doors closed behind it, the boatmen using the long beam extensions on the doors to do this. Then the sluice gates were wound open to allow the water from the lock above, to pour and foam into the lower until the water level in both was the same. The doors of the lock above were then opened allowing the boat to sail into it. The whole process was started again with each lock being filled higher than the last, enabling the boat to 'climb' the hill. Boats travelling in the opposite direction were put through the same procedure, but in reverse.

On the way home delicate harebells could be gathered from the edges of the many overgrown outcrops of stone from where the canal builders obtained material for the embankments and the large feeder reservoir nearby. Scattered around were mounds of earth which had been dug from the 'cut', as the canal was called locally.

Two miles further along, the canal disappeared into the 'mile tunnel' near Foulridge. Here, on the boat entering the tunnel, the horse would be released from its rope and led through the fields above. The boatmen propelled the barge in the darkness by lying on their backs and pushing with their feet on the sides and roof of the tunnel until they reached the end. The horse would then be hitched to the towline again.

Unhitching and re-hitching used to take place at most bridges where there was no towpath, although there were a few which had ingenious half-circle 'slip-lanes. These brought a horse to the other side of the bridge without the necessity of un-hitching. They were called change-line bridges.

The Leeds - Liverpool canal boat transport was augmented by steam driven lorries, their chimneys poking through the roof of the driver's cab, and belching smoke. Many had 'Tate and Lyle, Liverpool' painted in bright neatly-lined letters on the doors and front. Each lorry would be loaded with cloth sacks of sugar and many pulled trailers which had similar loads.

Up the hill towards Gisburn and Yorkshire they went, their chain drives rattling. Now and then a lorry would stop by the roadside and the driver would throw the end of a flexible pipe into the deeper part of the river to fill the tank. This was done by using a mechanical pump powered by the engine. The pipes had ball-like wire baskets at the end to prevent blockage by sucked-up debris from the river bed. We always watched them with interest as most of the traffic in those days was horse drawn.

There was one time of the year when it seemed that all the cars in the world went up the hill towards Blacko. This was in April and the drivers were on their way to Gisburn Races, an annual point-to-point meeting. One could see a motor car go by every few minutes on that particular Saturday morning.

Almost opposite our house in Gisburn Road was an old building where Armistead's Mineral Water Company produced their bottled drinks. We children would watch through the open doorway as the bottles were machine filled, then gassed with a loud hiss.

'Glass marble' stoppers were used to seal the bottles in the years before screw tops were invented. After being filled and gassed, a glass stopper, which had been placed inside the bottle when it was made, sealed-in the contents. The pressure of the gas forced the glass stopper tight up against a soft red rubber-ring seal near the top of the bottle neck.

A couple of inches below the bottom of the bottle neck was a pinch in the glass across the diameter of the bottle which was formed when the bottle was made . This pinch made a ledge on to which the glass stopper came to rest, preventing it from dropping to the bottom of the bottle, when the bottle was opened.

More importantly, the ledge on which the stopper rested was also designed to be used for re-sealing the bottle if only a part of the contents were needed. The ledge itself had a noticeable slope. The reason for this was so that the stopper could run down it to the edge of of the inside of the bottle, ensuring that it became trapped beneath a shorter pinch-ledge made above the main one, which effectively kept the stopper in a sort of cage . This prevented it from dropping back into the neck of the bottle when the contents were being poured.

If some of the lemonade or soda water was being kept for later, the bottle could be re-sealed by giving a half turn and then inclining it. The stopper would roll out of its 'cage' and run down the main ledge. A quick tip-up of the bottle would let the stopper drop into the neck up against the rubber seal and, helped by the gas, it would tightly seal the bottle keeping the sparkle in the remaining contents until more was required.

The bottles were opened by a wooden peg similar to a child's spinning top. The pegs were available in the shops where the drinks were sold.

Armistead's bottling plant would have been used by the former brewery to bottle their beer and may have been left there when brewing ceased. When Armisteads left the building, i, along with several local children, used to play in the unlocked building. Beneath what had been the bottling room there was a cellar which was covered by a light bluish oil around six inches deep.

After years of searching for an answer as to why this oil was there, I found , after consulting some notes compiled by the historian, Robbie Hayhurst, that at one time, the property included a 16 horse-power gas-oil engine. It is likely, therefore, that when the place closed down, someone opened a drain-tap on a storage tank allowing a light oil to drain into the cellar.

There was another building which joined on to the mineral water factory. It had been connected with the brewery. The floor was stone flagged, beneath which were two stone built arches forming the roof of a large cellar, used by the brewery for malting barley. From this cellar, a six foot wide stone-lined tunnel led under Gisburn Road to the main part of the brewery. The building had, for some time, been a corn mill making cattle and poultry feeds. There was a high open-fronted loading bay with a platform as high as a lorry back. A long rope, at the end of which was a hook, could be lowered from three storeys up. Almost all indications of these have gone now.

Among the ingredients used in the mill were maize, wheat and locust-bean pods. The latter were soft, sweet, sticky and juicy and almost black in colour. All of these were finely ground and compressed into pellets for poultry feed and cow cake. We children living nearby were always shouting up to the workmen at the top of the building to throw down some locust-bean pods as we loved to eat them.

Broken pieces of locust-bean pods were often included in so-called 'lucky-bags' which were sold in small sweet shops for half a penny. Lucky-bags also contained broken ice cream wafers and two or three stale toffees. The beans and the toffees were often covered in ice cream wafer dust.

It is interesting to note that the large square area of land behind the malt kilns, which some time ago, were used as a riding school, was, in 1920, the 'Barrowford Cattle Auction and Piggeries' owned by Nicholas Grimshaw. Horses were bought and sold here. At the time the Auctions were advertised as being, 'Only one minute from the tram'.

The public transport of the time was the tram-car. Earlier trams were horse drawn. These gave way to steam power and eventually they were electrically driven. The tram sheds were situated in Charles Street in Nelson and, in the cellar there, in the early days, there were rows of glass batteries linked together to give enough power to enable the trams to be brought off the roads to the depot, should there be a power failure - a fairly common occurrence in those days.

Tram travel was cheap, quick and pollution-free if somewhat noisy. One could travel from Nelson to Barrowford, Colne, Burnley or Padiham and trams were numerous and therefore quite frequent.

The Barrowford terminus was outside Higherford Mill; the lines ended just short of the bridge. Opposite the mill was a small waiting room with wooden bench seats. The inside walls were painted a dark brown and there was a dim light. It was somewhat depressing .

There was, however, in the winter, a fireplace with a warm fire and we spent many an hour there as children. We would sit on the seats and sort out the tickets from the used-ticket box. Tickets were in colours which differed according to price, and occasionally one was found which had not been punched.

The lucky finder could then have a free tram ride, but we used only the ones as far as Nelson otherwise it would be a long walk back. At this time you could travel from Higherford to Nelson for one penny.

When a tram reached the Higherford terminus the conductor would take a long pole from its place on the side of the tram, and remove the trolley. This was the trailing pole contact which was on top of the tram. It was on a swivel and was spring-loaded against the overhead cable. A small wheel 'picked up' half the current. (The other half was obtained from the contact of the wheels with the lines). The conductor, using the hook at the top of his pole, would fit it into an 'eye' on the trolley pulling it down off the cable and walking with it to the opposite end of the tram repositioning it onto the cable. The tram was then ready for the return journey.

The wooden slat seat backs were also on a swivel so that they could be flipped back at each terminus enabling the passengers to face the direction of travel. Often, when a tram arrived and the trolley was being changed over, the seat backs would be quickly flipped over by some youngsters trying to beat the conductor who, no doubt was happy to have his or her work done for them.

While on the subject of trams, a large cake comes to mind. It was called a 'tram-stopper', and it looked like they could do just that ! They were sold at a couple of shops and were a mixture made from unsold, often stale, cakes which were re-crumbed and re-baked with a layer of jam inside and sugar on top. 'Tram-stoppers' were about four inches long by three inches wide and were of the same thickness. There wasn't a mouth in the area big enough to bite them so they had to be sliced from the end. Even the poorest could afford them now and again as they were only a penny each.

Our parents worked at Higherford Mill, starting work at six-thirty a.m., so my sisters and myself were left sleeping. We were wakened, dressed and fed when Mum and Dad arrived home for the breakfast break. This was from eight-fifteen to eight-forty-five. Then we were taken to a house nearby where we were minded, being collected at the end of the working day at five-twenty. Within two years there was a slack period at the mill and half the weavers were laid off.

Albert Morris was born on the 21st. of March 1921 -his pursuits and interests alone, read like a book.

At the early age of five or six, he was becoming aware of what was to be seen and studied in the countryside around him - in the world of birds, wild creatures and insects, wasps and bees - flowers and trees and the numerous water creatures to be found when dabbling in Pendle Waters.

His enquiring mind also probed into what was going on with regard to industries in the old buildings nearby.

He attended the small Catholic school next to the house where the family lived, where his teacher Miss M. France, gave him every encouragement in pursuing his interests in nature.

At the age of eleven, he left his school to receive a wider education than that which could be provided by two teachers and until leaving school at fourteen, was educated at Rushton Street School in Barrowford. Today after sixty-five years of beekeeping and studying the fascinating world of bees, wasps and other insects, it can be seen how long-lasting has been his interests in that direction, while not being confined only to that particular field.

Fortunately, observing closely, the happenings of 'those days' and having a memory good enough to recall most of them, he was able to put his memories on paper, for the interest of those of us too young to have...lived through the times to which they relate and to keep alive some memories of life as it was lived - 'In Those Days', the title of his book. (Published in Feb. 1998.)

In 1940, he volunteered for the RAF serving for six years as a chemical weapons expert and lecturer and was stationed in Burma and India for four of those six years, where, during off-duty hours, he learned from hands-on experience, about the biggest honey-bee in the world - the giant rock bee - three times the size of our own native honey bee which he studied and photographed on their single six feet by three feet honeycomb. His wartime experiences are at present on disk and will shortly be ready for publishing as his next book.

On returning to civilian life, his interests continued to widen and grow and he began some years ago to, to write a monthly column for the British Bee Journal - 'Notes from Nelson' - commenting on and informing readers of beekeeping matters and nature in general, covering a wide area of Lancashire's hill country. He also writes a column for the Beekeeper's Quarterly, 'Talkback', and occasionally for the journal, 'Bee Craft'.

As early as the late nineteen-forties, he began to develop a greater interest in writing, and later, contributed articles to Red Rose, Pennine and other magazines on such subjects as bees, natural history, local history, photography, photo-micrography, collecting antiques and other subjects, which articles, he continues to write.

He has over the years, written 'letters to the editor' of the Nelson Leader and Lancashire Evening Telegraph by the hundreds on a great variety of subjects and for over sixty years, he has been a keen photographer. This was originally 'sparked off' when at the age of twelve, he was given a glass-plate camera which was on its way to the local tip and he quickly learned how to process, print and enlarge his own photographs on a home-made enlarger, and in later years after the war, what he had taught himself all those years ago, enabled him to start a photographic business in Leeds Road Nelson and numerous people in the area, have photographs and albums of their weddings taken by him over a twelve year period. In the nineteen sixties through to the eighties, using his 16mm movie camera, he filmed local news items for both BBC and ITV from fires to floods and has an extensive movie library of his family - his wife Margaret and five children, taken on holidays and cover the children's ages from when they were around two years of age. He also has an amount of footage of traction-engine and fair-organ rallies in such locations as Harewood House, Wintersett, Castle Howard and Masham in Yorkshire.

Among his movie films are three Reedyford Hospital fund-raising gala processions through Nelson. In 1965, '66 and '67. The opening celebrities were Miss World Ann Sydney 1965 - Nelson's Mayor 1966 - and in 1967, Jimmy Clitheroe (of the Clitheroe Kid fame) who was in Albert's class at school. He also has an hour's run of film taken when he and his wife were on holiday in the USSR in 1982.

In the sixties, he was in the news on TV with a 'pedal-plane' which he built as an experiment - there was a prize of £5,000 for the first person to fly with human muscle-power only. This was later raised to £50,000 although he was aware that more wealthy entrants and groups, particularly in the USA were more than likely to win the prize, he nevertheless, built it for the interest and challenge it presented.

He has on several occasions, been interviewed by Radio Lancashire reporters on a wide variety of subjects from beekeeping, through English Grammar and handwriting and his recent book, 'In Those Days', about his youth and the way that life was lived in the 1920's and 30's by Radio Lancashire's Alison Brown, and he featured in one of Fletcher Richardson's 'The Sawdust Plaiters' programme. He was some years ago interviewed by Judith Roberts concerning a simple and more efficient mouse-trap, but to date, it would appear that no one seems to be interested in manufacturing and marketing it. For some years, oil-painting - mainly landscapes and portraitures has been another of his pastimes and a photograph of him with some of his paintings and his...mouse-trap was published in a magazine, Lancashire Life, February 1979 under the title of 'The Nelson Touch'.

He has a wide knowledge and love of music, mainly light classical and has owned several pianolas. He has for twenty years, had the enjoyment of playing his electronic home-organ of one make or another after teaching himself to play and, in keeping with his music interests, has composed pieces of music and several songs one of which was 'Sabrina Samba' when that star appeared at the Imperial Ballroom, Nelson in the 1950's. His wide-ranging interests are shown in that he is a member of Pendle Artists, Nelson Camera Club, Lancashire & North West Beekeeper's Association, The International Bee Research Association, Burnley and District Writers Circle, The Lancastrian Theatre Organ Trust, The Theatre Organ Club, Pendle Arts Gallery, and The William Morris Society.

Unfortunately, since 1993, some of his activities have been somewhat curtailed because of arthritis and artificial knee-replacement operations, one of which proved to be less than successful. However, he is thankful that he is able to continue with his many-faceted writings and his bees, and his self-built photographic processing darkroom in his attic.

Our parents soon found work at the more modern Sunfield Mills behind the White Bear Inn further down the village. As this was near on half a mile away , getting home and back would have been difficult in the time allowed. My sisters were taken , therefore , to the minder at six-fifteen in the morning whilst I was taken each Sunday evening to my maternal grandparents.. I stayed all week to be collected the following Saturday afternoon, as the mills worked Saturday mornings till eleven thirty.

My grandparents lived in Nelson on Elizabeth Street, the next street but one to Charles Street, where the tram sheds were and but a short distance from the town centre. My weekly stay with my grandparents was from the age of three and a half until five when I started attending the Infant's School next to where we lived in Gisburn Road.

I loved every minute of that time with my grandparents. There were also an unmarried aunt and uncle, Annie and Alfred, and another bachelor uncle, Ralph, who was in the regular army. I was always pleased to see Ralph when he came home on leave for he would take me for walks around the town. If I became tired he would carry me on his shoulders. I was always so proud of him when he was wearing his uniform as he looked so smart. His regiment was the King's Own Liverpool. He was soon to go to Egypt, telling me that it would be some time before I would see him again.

Occasionally, my aunt and uncle would talk of going to the pictures. This was in the evenings and there were two 'houses', the earlier one at six-thirty and the second house at eight-thirty. They always went to the second house as the six-thirty hardly allowed time for tea and changing out of working clothes.I would often ask to go with them but, as eight -thirty was well past my bedtime, Uncle Alf would tell me that I could see the pictures. He'd then lift me to face the pictures on the wall and tell me in doing so, that I had been 'to see the pictures'. I was annoyed by this joke as it was played on me too many times.

These pictures were prints of well known paintings. They hung from a picture rail, near the ceiling, by a cord. Two were colour prints of stags; 'Monarch of the Glen' and 'The Stag at Bay', both were popular at this time and they were to be found in many local homes. There was also a picture of General Gordon of Khartoum, resplendent in colourful uniform and decorated with shiny medals. Grandma told me that he was an English officer and a hero who had been killed by the 'fuzzie-wuzzies'. I never believed that the general was English for he wore a strange, inverted plant-pot sort of hat which Grandma said was called a fez.

In addition to the coloured pictures there were two black and white ones each with a man and a woman with strange hairstyles and even stranger clothes. They were a pair. In one the man was standing behind the woman holding her hands in his but high in the air. It was entitled 'Betrothed'. The other where the man was looking at the ring on his wife's finger was called 'Wedded'. Grandma said they were Grecians.

On another wall there was a large picture frame with twenty or so flags displayed under the heading, 'Flags of all Nations'. These flags were made from silk, the colours being woven in. There was also a photograph of Uncle Alf in World War One uniform. This, too, was in silk and photos like this were common in peoples houses at this time, many dating back to the war itself. Another picture was a framed photograph of the 'Titanic', the tragedy having happened only some fourteen years previously.

On top of some drawers, on a sort of high sideboard with a mirror in the centre, there were two porcelain figurines under glass domes. These were a boy and a girl dressed in the clothes of a bye-gone age. She was wearing a long pink dress and widebrimmed hat with blonde curls showing below the brim. He was in a blue jacket and knee breeches with gold buckles below the knee. He looked like 'Little Boy Blue' who could be seen in childrens picture books at this time.

On the wall, and to the right of the window, was a Vienna clock with a carved eagle on top. I would watch as one of the brass weights slowly fell. The clock chimed the hours and I would often be sent to the point of sleep by the sonorous tick-tock of the movement of the slowly swinging brass pendulum. On either side of the glass door, on a ledge, were some First World War rifle bullets in their cartridge cases. The cordite propellant had long since been removed leaving only the harmless percussion cap. They shone like burnished gold as they were constantly polished with the rest of the household brasses.

The chair I liked best of all was the rocking chair. It was covered with shiny black horsehair cloth and there was a matching sofa along one wall. I always sat on a cushion on these as, wearing short trousers, the backs of my legs would be red with scratches.

Under the stairs was the pantry which was a common feature in most terraced houses in those days. The pantry had shelves at the top and three steps down to where it was cool . Here were two cubby-holes for keeping butter and soft drinks. There were no fridges in those days. As you opened the door into the pantry there was a wooden buffet on which stood a shallow earthenware bowl; it had a small base and a top opening of some three feet across. In this, bread was kept fresh for a few days under a wooden lid with a damp cloth draped across the top.The bowl was also used for mixing and kneading the yeasted dough before it was placed in front of the fire to make it rise. The bread was baked in deep tins in the oven at the side of the fire range.

The fire range at Grandma's house was much bigger than the one we had at home. Below the firegrate was a big opening to where the ashes fell as the coal burned. This was called the 'ash-hole' and it was cleaned out every Friday night. The ashes at the far back were raked out with what was called a coal rake; a long-handled metal implement with a knob at the top and a half-moon shaped piece at the other end.

The ash-hole was hidden by a large cast iron screen known as a 'tidy Betty', on which fancy patterns were worked.Along the top, there were often brass decorations of flowers or just fancy shapes. Surrounding the entire hearth was the 'fender'. These were mainly of black cast iron but some of the more expensive ones were made of wood, covered with copper or brass leaf. Often they had a small box at each end with a hinged, padded seat where coals could be stored out of sight for use on cold dark nights.

Every Friday night, the cast iron parts of the fender,'tidy Betty', oven and boiler were 'blackleaded'. A black liquid polish from a tin named Zebo or Zebra, made by different manufacturers, was applied, allowed to dry on and then vigorously polished with a brush until it shone burnished black.

There was a silver-coloured metal platform at the height of the fire-grate and this was called the top bar, on it were placed kettles or pans. There was also available, for fitting to this, a most ingenious toasting fork. It consisted of a large wire-made contraption with a double hanging hook suspended some three inches below, on which a slice of bread was impaled at its top end. The toaster was then slid on to the top bar and the slice of bread was automatically placed in front of the brightest red part of the fire. When the first side had been toasted, the toastholder was slid off and twisted upside down in the hand and the bread would swing down to present the untoasted side to the fire when the toaster was again slid into place.

Suspended from the ceiling, just above the fireplace on a series of pulleys common to most homes, was the clothes rack, a platform of four wooden bars some nine feet long and spaced nine inches apart. The rack might be three or four feet wide. It could be raised or lowered by a rope which went round the pulleys. Of course the rack was used for drying and airing clothes. It was also used to dry oatcakes, made of oatmeal, rolled thin to around ten inches in diameter. Oatcakes were a welcome change from ordinary bread and they were delicious with cold stew made from moulded jellied beef. A slice of what we called 'stew and hard' along with some onion was a real favourite and it can still be purchased in local pubs.

On New Year's Eve there would be a knock at the door and, before anyone could get to it and open it, in would bustle the mummers,usually in pairs. Dressed in old clothes, some wearing battered top hats and with faces blackened with soot, they carried short hand-brushes and polishing rags. They would pretend to sweep and polish the hearth and fire-range humming all the time. Mummers swept out the old year and people looked forward to their arrival as they were thought to bring good luck.

The tradition was to keep up the humming and not speak even when someone in the house spoke to them. If the mummers spoke they wouldn't be paid as much as if they had carried on humming. Usually a sixpenny piece would be their reward. On New Year's Day most people looked forward to the first visitor being dark haired; this person was thought to bring good luck for the coming year.

There were a number of superstitions, such as...never walk under a ladder...never put an umbrella up indoors...never put new shoes on the table, not even when in their box. In the early summer, early hawthorn blossom must never be taken into the house for that would bring bad luck. Never put a hat on a bed, and you wouldn't have good luck if you looked at the moon through glass. This was taken to mean a window as spectacles were not mentioned. Some people would tell you if there was to be rainy or fine weather by considering the moon; if the crescent was flat-looking, like a baby's cot, they would say that we were in for fine weather as the moon was 'holding water', or, if upright with the points at the top and bottom, then there would be rain. Good luck would come your way if, when you saw a new moon, you 'turned your money over' in your pocket and the same good luck applied if you did the same in early summer on hearing the first cuckoo.

Some people believed that if you had your photo taken with your boy or girl friend, you would never get married to each other. Meanwhile, whenever there was a thunderstorm, everyone would open their doors wide so that when the thunderbolt dropped and came down the chimney, it then could run safely out of the house.

Another old saying was that if you held a piece of ice in your hand, it would chill your heart against your loved one. It's to be hoped this wasn't true because when ice was delivered to local ice-cream makers, it used to come in big glassy-looking blocks about two feet square by fifteen inches deep. These were mainly handled by enormous 'tongs' with handles at the top and big flat hand-like grippers at the bottom. The ice-blocks were stacked side by side on wagons and, on delivery, were placed on a ramp by a man on the vehicle, to be caught at the bottom by another man who took them inside the building.

During the day, and often at nights, street traders would come along the back streets pushing their small carts or barrows selling oatcakes, muffins and crumpets.The fishmongers, ringing their hand bells and shouting, "Fish, alive !" were daytime salesmen while on winter evenings, the hot-roasted chestnut and potato sellers trundled their boiler-like handcarts through the streets. Many will remember these distinctive vehicles with their short chimneys at the front and their coal fires roasting and keeping warm the salesman's wares.

Each day the 'rag and bone' man would push his cart shouting his trade. He collected old rags which, when sold on to the big collectors, were used in the paper-making factories. The 'bones' part of the call was a reminder of the days when bones had been used in the manufacture of glycerine, but he still shouted 'rag and bone'.

For a small bundle of rags the man would hand out a 'donkey stone'. This was a hand-sized piece of soft stone, white or yellow to your choice, with which a housewife would decorate the back and front doorsteps. A little band of white at each side of a step and yellow along the front edge gave houses a neat cared-for look, a sign of pride now long since gone.

From time to time small bands of musicians dressed in yellow uniforms would play in the streets. They were from Germany and, as there wasn't enough work for them to do at the end of World War One , they came to Britain to earn a living. Grandma said that it wasn't so long ago since bears were led on chains round the streets and would dance to music to entertain people.

At Christmas, and on other special occasions, the front room , or 'parlour' as it was called, was used for family 'get-togethers'.

Grandad was the proud owner of a wind-up gramophone. I remember its large horn and it had the famous emblem of 'His Master's Voice'. Grandad would be asked to play 'request' records and he had just bought the latest set of Gilbert and Sullivan's, 'The Gondoliers'.

I was always asked to sing 'The Ash Grove' each Christmas much to the appreciation, feigned or otherwise, of the gathered relations, Grandad and an uncle, would then sing a 'round' song,, ('A boat, a boat is on the ferry, and we'll go over to be merry, and laugh and chaff and quaff old sherry'), 'The Miner's Dream of Home', and, always, 'Love's Sweet Song', ('Just a Song at Twilight').

I learned many of the popular songs of the day. My youngest aunt was unmarried at that time. She had a friend across the back street who had a piano and, once a week, they joined other friends. Together they learned the latest songs from Feldman's Song Sheets (Price, 6d). My aunt often took me with her.

Buying song sheets, in the days before the advent of radio, was the only way of learning words and music. When in Blackpool, one could see scores of people gathered round stalls each with a sixpenny copy learning the latest songs.

Also across the back street lived the Blades, Freddie and Elizabeth, who were around our age. Elizabeth had a passion for putting on concerts in her back yard. She dressed up in her mother's clothes and shoes and her singing and dancing was much influenced by the films of the day. The admission fee was sometimes three pins or perhaps two cigarette cards. We, as kids, enjoyed these concerts as there wasn't much else to do. Unfortunately, there was often much quarrelling for not everyone had the fee and would scramble up the yard wall for a free view.

There were only two teachers at S.S. Peter and Paul's Catholic School. Miss Cummins taught the infants and Miss France 'educated' the older class. 'Educated', is the operative word ! Miss France, herself, was a well-educated woman with a large range of interests and a flair for creating enthusiasm in her pupils. In addition to normal lessons, she showed them that there was a world full of interest. She organised school concerts, teaching the words, music and acting. She provided the music on the school piano and she made many of the costumes in a most professional way . In short she was a one-woman show in every way and was most successful.

I was in several of these school plays and I remember playing a Chinese in one and the Pied Piper in another. Miss France produced many plays over several years, the proceeds of which went to Church Funds.

There was one play, however, which didn't run according to her wishes. She sometimes organised ex-pupils of around eighteen or nineteen to play the more grown up parts in some sophisticated plays. One or two on this particular night, were playing in 'The Mikardo' and, before the concert, had slipped "For a quick one" into the Bridge Inn which was directly across the road from the school. When, during the play, one of them should have said, "...bring the prisoners in", instead he spoke out loudly "...bring the buggers in !" There was a complete silence for just a second. Then the whole audience broke into uncontrollable laughter. Miss France and Father Cahlan, the priest who always introduced these concerts, were most embarrassed but it made the night for most of the people there.

Although my sisters and I went to the Catholic School and Church, we never really seemed to fit in with everything. My Dad's family were Catholics, (one of his sisters, my aunt Rosina, was a nun in a convent in Jersey), but my mother was a non-Catholic and so we were the products of a 'mixed marriage'. Somehow we were never accepted as being 'one hundred -per-cent', so I never became a train-bearer to the May Queen, something which seemed to bother Mum but didn't worry me.

I did however, enjoy the ceremony of the crowning of the May Queen when the Church was bedecked with all the Spring flowers. I liked the music and the light from the hundreds of candles. Something I didn't like, however, was going to Confession. Who, at the age of six or seven, knows what a sin is? I was always at a loss what to say and Father Cahlan must have been constantly perplexed by my telling him, week after week, the same old things; that I had sworn twice, and climbed up a drainpipe three times, none of which was true, but I felt I had to confess something because, if I didn't, I'd get shouted at.

During the six weeks mid-summer School Holidays, I and my friends, would be out exploring the countryside around us. We would go to the big meadow where 'Bye Taylor the farmer and his men were haymaking. Horses pulled the mowing machine which had small spikes on the big metal wheels which drove the serrated cutting blade backwards and forwards in its guides. We would volunteer to help and would be given wooden - toothed rakes with which we turned over the grass as it dried. We then piled it into small stacks to be collected and thrown by the men on to a cart which took it to the barn. We were always sad to see, behind the mower, the slaughter of shrews, field mice, and voles which had been caught by the razor-sharp blades.

One gallon earthenware bottles of home-made sarsparilla or dandelion and burdock, were liberally shared with us and, on a hot summer's day, this was considered ample reward for an hour or so of help.

Sometimes it was down the river, turning over stones to find fish; slim 'tommies' with whiskers and short fat ones with bulbous heads which we called bullheads. When the river was low during hot spells, we found caddis-fly larvae under the stones . The inch -long caterpillar-like grub covers its body in a case of tiny grains, often with a thin twig or even a match stick fastened with sticky glue along one side to strengthen the tube shape.

Where the warm exhaust water from Higherford Mill's steam engine ran from a tunnel, there were shoals of small fish all facing into the fast flowing water and swimming to stay still. Browny-red with bright underbellies, we would place them in empty sardine tins and float them down the river.

Sometimes when we were busying ourselves, we would hear a rushing sound. We soon learned to move quickly to higher ground. The sound was the sign that there was to be a sudden rise in the level of the river caused by the mill man lowering the sluice-gate at the waterfall to stop the flow of water into the mill lodge. Other times there would be a sudden downpour of rain on Pendle and the surrounding hills and the river would rapidly rise in a high wave of muddy brown water. We used to call this 'the brown flood'. There were times when the river would be six to eight feet high, a frenzy of floating trees, fencing wood and even small hen huts.

There was a particularly big flood when it rained for three days. The torrent was so powerful that even the huge stones placed below the waterfall, though fastened together with strong steel bands , were scattered fifty yards down stream. Bends in the river course were washed wider from the Water-meetings to the big meadow. Whole stretches of footpath were washed away . 'Bye Taylor spent some three months building up the river walls, behind which cart loads of ash were tipped as filling. In the ash along the wall, 'Bye Taylor planted willow saplings telling us that the roots would hold the wall and banks together. These trees have now grown to maturity.

Early one sunny morning in 1927 or parents took us outside to see an eclipse of the sun. Slowly, it began to grow darker, past twilight until it was like night. A hush fell over everything and the birds were silent. We were frightened until we were assured that it would soon become light again which it slowly did. Shortly after this, the family moved house to 13, Elizabeth Street in Nelson, three doors from my grandparent's house.

For the next five years, I attended Holy Saviour School and Church in Nelson. Each Sunday, I went to church taking my two younger sisters with me. I was given three pennies, one for each of us, to put in the collection. I thought it such a waste saying goodbye to such a useful amount of spending money at a time when one penny was a small fortune to a child. Therefore, I devised a way of converting two of the pennies into something I thought more beneficial

I would tell my sisters to 'wait a minute' while I went round to the toffee shop where I bought two pen'orth of sweets. These I placed on a low garden wall at the front of some houses. I would then take my sisters along there and pretend to find them. Being so young, I didn't realise that before long, my sisters would tell Mum of the miraculous and constant supply of Sunday sweets, but, at least, the church did get a small share.

At school, we were told by the teacher to attend Mass at nine-o-clock and not at eleven . At Monday morning Assembly anyone who had gone to eleven-o-clock Mass got the cane.

Trams ran along Scotland Road, at the bottom of Elizabeth Street, on their way to and from Padiham, Burnley, Colne and Barrowford. We would place straight pins, crossed in twos and threes , on the line as we saw a tram coming. When it had passed, the great weight of the vehicle had flattened the pins four times wider, welding them into what we called 'badges'. Half pennies were treated in the same way and they ended up as large as pennies and too hot to handle.

The tram shed depot, where repairs were carried out and where trams were housed at night, was a short way along Charles Street (next but one to Elizabeth Street) so it was inevitable that we, as kids, found it. A little further away from the shed, was a large area of land which we were told was once allotments. It was always referred to as 'up John Speake's', after a farmer of that name. Part of the land was still used for allotments, but most of it was occupied by the 'tram graveyard'. Here vehicles, by the score, were run on laid lines and dumped at the end of their useful lives.

There was a large number of single-deckers, taken out of service and replaced by double-deckers,, and a number of the latter with open tops, perhaps an indication of the type of weather in the years when they were used. The graveyard made an ideal play ground for us children for some years.

As well as the dead trams, some of which were used for bits for repairing others, there was a bay which was piled up with scrapped iron cylinders some three inches in diameter and about six inches long. If you held them with some small holes in the end pointing downwards, mercury would drop out and, if they were shaken, it poured out.

These were probably mercury switches and older schoolboys brought small pot pudding basins and filled them, finding that they were almost too heavy to carry. They said that the science master from nearby Bradley School asked them to collect it. We used to let it run through our fingers, fascinated by the very heavy, elusive liquid. The ground, for yards around the bay, was silvery with the spilled metal. In those days mercury was not recognised as a dangerous poison.

Close by the tram sheds was the electricity works. It was brick-built with with moulded eight-inch high letters, 'Nelson Corporation Electricity', along the top at the front of the building. These letters can still be seen today. In addition, an etched and figured glass panel in the main front door had the date '1902', the date when it started to supply electricity as an on-going service.

Outside a wall at the far end of the building, there was a large metal grille with three-inch square mesh apertures fastened to the top of a chute. Here horse-drawn carts full of small steam-coal were backed up to the grille and the coal tipped into it. At the bottom of the chute there was an 'Archimedes Screw' which took the coal along its tube to the furnaces which provided the steam to drive the turbines for the generation of electricity, some of which powered the trams.

Underground, were rows of two-feet square, three-feet deep glass batteries, their output connected together to make 230 volts of direct current, as it was then, of electricity. These were used in the event of a power breakdown to get the trams off the main roads and back to the depot. Along the wall, at ground level, were windows with ventilators at the top to let out some of the heat which came from the generators humming away below ground level. Looking through the windows you could see the machinery at work.

Behind the electricity works was the 'Destructor'. It was to this place that all the refuse from the ashpits of Nelson, Barrowford and Brierfield was brought. Ash, from domestic coal fires, made up by far the bulk of the material collected. It was dumped into ashpits by householders who did this by opening eighteen-inch square wooden doors which were at shoulder height in their backyards. These doors revealed a dark usually stone-built storage place. Outside, in the back street and at ground level, was an iron door of the same size which lifted off. The ashpit men, at collection times, removed the iron door, raked out the contents and shovelled them on to a high wooden cart drawn by a horse.

The ashes were taken to the Destructor where carts queued to wait there turn to back up to a chute. A wheel was turned which raised the cart, tipping the load down the chute on to a conveyor belt with high sides. The belt ran for about thirty feet where, along its length, were two men who picked off the bits of scrap metal, bottles and other salvageable material.

At the end of the run, the belt ran back over a magnetic roller and all the many tin cans, clinging like bunches of grapes to the underside of the roller, danced against each other. Periodically, the building up of weight made them too heavy for the magnet, causing them to drop off into a large container. From here they were taken to a large press where they were compressed into three-foot square blocks to be sold as scrap.

The remaining ash and other rubbish shot further out and was fed into an incinerator. What remained was scooped up into containers which hung from an overhead cable on pulleys. The cable pulled them along, some fifteen feet from each other, and the whole system was around a third of a mile long from the Destructor to where the ash was tipped, filling-in some low-lying ground.

Up and away each container would go, moving along as they were filled. Over the tram graveyard, then the canal where there was a fine-mesh net to catch anything that might fall off on to a passing barge, went the 'buckets' passing rows of empty ones, returning to start the cycle again. As each full container reached the turn-around, high on a pylon-like structure, a 'trigger' caught a lever which allowed it to turn over scattering its load over a wide area. The same mechanism righted the empty containers so that they could be filled again. A steam hooter which we called the 'ten-o-clock buzzer', was sounded each working day in the morning. It helped the people of Nelson to keep their clocks at the right time.

During the intermission before the days of ice-cream sales, young girls walked around the cinemas selling penny sticks of 'Old Charlie's Rock'. These were short, fat three-inch long sticks of various flavours - aniseed, coltsfoot and peppermint - wrapped in cheap thick paper. In the heyday of cinemas through the thirties, there were, in addition to the Alhambra, De-lux and Majestic. Another five in Nelson; the Capitol, the Regent, the Palace, the Grand and the Queens.

Almost opposite the De-lux was Hartley Street and at the top of the street, in 1931, on Bonfire Night someone threw an old sofa on to the fire. Shortly afterwards, scores of gold sovereigns began to tumble out of the flames. There was a rush to collect the coins by raking them, and the melted gold, because some of them had melted into the pans containing water. Bits of gold could still be found among the ashes the day after. We always went round the ashes of bonfires the day after when we would find lots of coins which had fallen down the sides of easy chairs and were released when the chair was burned.

Another source of coins was a cigarette dispensing machine in Nelson Centre's Arcade. Here for a shilling in the slot, you could get a twenty packet of Capstan cigarettes with a halfpenny change taped to the packet. We used to manage to get lots of one-Franc coins which soldiers had brought back from France at the end of the War. These could not be spent in shops as shopkeepers were always on the watch for them. The coins did, however, fit the slot machines perfectly and we would put them in the machine, get a packet of cigs., take off the halfpenny and throw the cigarettes away. We would do this on a Sunday morning when there were not many people about. There must have been many smokers glad, if puzzled, to find unopened packets of cigarettes from time to time around there.

It was in March 1932, while we were living in Elizabeth Street, that the Market Hall near the Centre burned down. My sisters and myself had not been in bed long when, around ten-o-clock that night, we heard loud bangs and the sound of people shouting to each other. The fire, which was only a few hundred yards away, lit up the houses across the back street in Rook Street with a reddish glow. Fire-engine bells were ringing

Not long after the fire at Nelson Market Hall we moved back to Barrowford. The house we lived at was in David Street. It had an attic and a small cellar which was under the front half of the single downstairs room. The attic was my bedroom. The cellar, like most at the time, had a window below ground and a grating at footpath level to protect the window. Here, at the window, there was a three-inch slab of stone and on wet, drizzly Saturday afternoons, when we weren't allowed to play out, my sisters and myself, would pound small sandstone pebbles previously collected from the river bed, into sand using a larger stone. We would then pile each colour separately before mixing different colours.

Partly behind this house, and the house behind it, was a cellar where a family lived. Access to it was down some stone steps between the the gable end wall and the main road. After David Street we moved to 3, Bankhouse Street about 150 yards away. David Street was demolished in the early fifties as was Jonathan Street behind it.

As I was then aged eleven, my parents decided that I could either still go to the Catholic Church or leave, and that in any case, I was to go to Rushton Street Central School. On reaching eleven all pupils from outlying districts (Wheatley Lane, Roughlee, Barley and Blacko) were bussed to Rushton Street. In my class there was little Jimmy Clitheroe from Blacko who later found fame on the radio and television. Jimmy Clitheroe sadly died young. What he lacked in stature, he made up in courage and resourcefulness. He wouldn't let the bigger lads bully him. He had developed a way of nipping the arms or other parts of the body of anyone who tried to bully him and he was christened 'the little nipper' by me, after the mouse trap of that name.

Once a week we were taken from school to Bull Holme Playing Fields for football. My friend, Edgar Rawlinson and myself could never be persuaded to take an interest in football so the teacher would say, 'off with both of you' and we were free to be off up the river to get into any mischief which came our way - and there was plenty.

We would use our house, or Edgar's, depending on whose parents were out on a Saturday night. The chemicals would be mixed and our home-made tubes filled. Then we'd go into the back yard to test each one we made before making more for storage. Sometimes it would be raining too heavily for us to test in the yard so occasionally the test- bed would be a ledge at the far back of the fire-range at the bottom of the chimney.

One wet night, at our house, we placed a test in the fire-range but it must have been too tightly packed. There was an unexpected bang and the hearth and hearth-rug were covered in soot brought down from the chimney. The rest of the evening was spent cleaning up ! Despite what we thought was a brilliant job, my Mother knew that there had been soot on the floor as soon as she entered the house.

Another time was at Edgar's house before we had learned not to grind certain chemicals together. I was mixing some powders in a mortar when they cracked off, giving me a nasty burn on the wrist. We were using a buffet near the window as a bench and the flare-up set fire to the middle of the drawn dark red curtains. We quickly put out the fire and Edgar pulled the curtains closer together saying that his Mum wouldn't notice them. Like my Mum, as soon as she came through the door, she said, "Who's burnt my curtains?" We couldn't win.

We had a good den where we could go on cold winter nights if none of our parents were out. This was a small building inside the top part of the park near the present Heritage Centre. Here a tar boiler owned by the Barrowford Urban District Council, was stored. We would quietly sneak in bits of wood and coal and light a fire in the grate of the machine, and we would be snug and warm whatever the weather even though we were often bleary-eyed from the smoke which accumulated in the building. Here, in relative comfort, we could roll cigars from chestnut or sycamore leaves left in doorways by the winter winds, or stuff bits into the old clay pipes with short broken stems which had been thrown away by their owners.

Another building, the one with the pigeon or dove holes, an old barn, was also used by the Council for storage purposes and there was a large bin holding calcium carbide chippings used for the gas-lamp lighters. These were put into a box at the top of a long stick which had a water container and a method of dripping water into the chips which gave off acetylene gas. This supplied a flame with which the lamp-lighter lit the street lamps after turning on the gas with a hook which operated a tap.

At that time many cars, motorbikes and bicycles used actylene lamps which, prior to electric ones, gave off a very bright light. The main trouble with these was that the spent carbide, in the form of wet, soggy lime paste, had to be cleaned from the containers quite often.

As kids, we knew the use of carbide chips for, after school we would go to Sam o' Nicks,

the welding and engineering works at the bottom of Church Street. Lee Jackson and his son Nicholas, generated their own acetylene gas from chunks of calcium carbide in a large generator. Up the hillside, above the workshop, were large piles of spent carbide lime which, over the years, had hardened into hillocks. Their workshop machinery was powered by a paraffin-gas engine which had to be started by throwing a powerful flywheel round and many's the time Nicholas or Lee himself had been thrown against the wall by hanging on too long when it started unexpectedly.

A generator charged accumulators for battery radios, the accumulators being similar to car batteries but smaller and with glass cases. These were used to supply the valve filament with a low voltage, while 120 volt dry batteries supplied the high voltage. Radios, in those days, also had a third power source, a nine volt battery hich supplied what was known as 'grid bias' voltage to the valves. As many as twenty accumulators at a time could be charged and a large number of lamps were used to drop the voltage. This set-up looked like something out of science fiction.