The Beginning Thoughts and Recollections of Terry Dactyl, Page 2

  I learnt later that she died in 1943. I never met Grandad Dactyl. He died in 1933, aged 46

  Then we got our own local library at the top end of the Greenwood Road shops, I couldn't keep away. I often borrowed six books for the weekend and take them back the following Monday after reading the lot.

  I used to see Grandma and Grandad Malloy most weekends, travelling by two bus/tram routes (usually by myself from the age of nine) the 15 miles to Blackley, changing buses/tram in the city centre of Manchester. An all-day child’s return ticket cost me 4d. (It could be used for as many journeys as you liked).

  Grandad was a retired transport inspector. His retirement clock for 42 years service with Gralingham Corporation took pride of place on the mantlepiece in the front parlour.

  The parlour also had an upright piano in it. I used to play around on it but never got beyond ‘Chopsticks.’ There was also a radiogram that incorporated a record player on top. I was allowed to play the 12 inch 78s records. My favourite was Ravel’s Bolero. It knocked the socks off me. It was totally new music to me. There was also a selection of Swing Band music, which I liked.

  My grandparents (Malloy) had moved from a large Victorian house on the main Blackley road to a smaller terrace house just round the corner in Ronwell Street, when I was about 8 years old. (My aunty Betty and uncle John and uncle Joe were away in the air force and army).

  I was surprised to find out that the ‘new’ house was lit by gas. In fact all the streetlights in the street were gas lit. A man with a long pole with a small hook fixed at one end of it, came along every night to pull down a little chain, which opened the gas pipe next to the gas mantle. A pilot light already lit would then ignite the gas lamp. Of course he had to come back the next morning to pull another chain to stop the gas flow.

  Another thing I remember about Ronwell Street was the fact that it was made of stone setts. (Like cobbles but bigger). The reason it sticks in my mind (no pun intended) was the fact that black tar or pitch was poured between the cracks and in very hot weather it began to soften.

  For a small child it was irresistible. I used to spend ages poking the setts with a stick and pulling up bits of sticky tar and then try to make things with it. Grandma Malloy was not very pleased when I went back in. She had a right messy job to get my hands clean.

  Chapter 4

  A few words about playing games after school and any other spare time we had. We always played in the street. There was practically no road traffic in those days and there were very few private cars around our estate. Not one in our Crescent.

  In fact I never knew of any one in our area at all who had a car. So apart from an occasional coal lorry, the milkman or bread-van, the roads were empty of traffic. Of course there was petrol rationing as well.

  We played the usual children's games, football, (with a patched leather football, usually half-inflated), hopscotch, marbles, conkers, skipping, kick-can, hopping Johnny (arms folded, standing on one leg and trying to hop across the road without being caught by a hopping guard). Mister Wolf what time is it and tag.

  We also played the game of Ravio. I'm not quite sure if this the correct name. A catcher would hold their arms out in a circle and all players would put a hand into the circle and chant to a hundred in 10s. Then they would all run away and try not to get caught. If caught, you held hands with the catcher and tried to catch someone else. This made a threesome. The next person caught then made up two sets of two and so on until everyone was caught.

  Picture card throwing was popular with the boys. Many cigarette packets, contained a picture card from a set, say of animals or ships. Most boys collected them. The winner was the one who flicked his card the furthest or nearest a set target.

  I used to enjoy playing with a Garf, a bicycle wheel rim with no tyre and with all the spokes removed. A small wooden stick was used to hit the 'Garf' to get it rolling and then used to guide it.

  My friends and I often went to play in the countryside. From our Crescent, across Mayfair Road through Ashwood Avenue (only two sets of semis) was an abandoned field, the Old Farm, as we called it.

  Crossing this field led you to Peal Lane. On the left, were farmer's fields filled with crops. On the right, the land had been made into a huge building site. The area was to be known later as the Peal Hall Housing Estate.

  Partly built houses lay abandoned. Rows and rows of them (The war had stopped all building work)

  Great piles of timber planks lay in triangular stacks. Some must have been 3/4 metres high. There must have been many thousands of bricks as well.

  Piles of stone chippings and larger lumps of stone dotted the site. These piles of stones became our own battleground.

  A gang of boys from the other side of the building site similarly aged (8 to14) and each consisting of about 15 members, would stand on top of a stone pile not to far apart and begin throwing stones at each other.

  After a while, everyone began to get tired of the shouting of abuse and the throwing and we all retired, usually unhurt, but very excited by the event.

  We had several set-tos over the following months. Then the gang leaders decided to fight each other for the position of 'top dog'. Our gang leader, Macka won the fight, which would appear tame nowadays. We never bothered each other again as far as I can remember.

  One other episode comes to mind regarding the building site. Five or six of us decided to build a den on the cleared foundations of the old farm, which was in the middle of the field. The building site was only about 200/300 metres away.

  We spent ages climbing the timber plank stack and carrying them back, one at a time. The 'Den' was about 4 to 5 feet (1.5 metres) high when the site watchman (the Nicky) arrived with a policeman.

  He made us carry every plank back to the original place we got them from. By then we were very tired and a bit worried about what would happen next. We were lucky to get away with a warning after a right telling off.

  Further along Deal Lane was the actual Dean Farm, which had the remains of a moat around the farm buildings.

  We used to catch newts from one of the field ponds. They never survived long in the bowl under our kitchen table.

  Passing Peal Hall Farm brought you to Style and then Ringway Airport, then bustling with bombers and other planes.

  Not far on the other side of Ringway Airport was the River Bollin.

  This was a favourite with everyone. A beautiful valley flanked by trees and grassy banks by the perfectly clear river, which flowed among rocky pools in which you could paddle or swim.

  Chapter 5

  At the age of 11, I had to take the 11+ exam for selection to the Grammar School sector. I was promised a bike if I was successful. We took the exam in a local county junior school and on the way back to my school I broke my wooden ruler (moral - don’t play fencing with them). Unfortunately it cost me 2d to replace it, practically the price of a Saturday morning cinema ticket (sob, sob). I didn't get the bike.

  Later that year, I re - sat the 11+, again no bike. Almost 50% of my year group passed the 11+, including all of my best friends. It was a very big shock starting the next school year without them.

  That year was the time that my Aunty Betty (another sister of my mother) who had married and gone to live in the States with my new Uncle Jim Colne, sent me a ball - point pen.

  I was the centre of attraction in my class for days. No one had ever seen one like it.

  Normally, I would have moved up to a Secondary Modern School. Since, however, I was attending a Catholic Elementary School in an area of Manchester, which had at that time, no Catholic Secondary Modern Schools, I stayed on at St Paul's.

  Of course religion was a very prominent part of school. Every morning and afternoon included a half an hour of learning the Catechism.

  There was a Mass first thing each Monday and a Benediction service for the last school period on each Friday. Conveniently, the church was next to the school playground.

  At Easter and Whi
tsun, there were always church led processions. This meant that we got a set of new clothes.

  I used to get a new suit with short trousers, shirt and a pair of shoes, all a size too big. They had of course, to last all year.

  That was it. I had one set of 'best clothes' and one set of older clothes for school. For the winter, I wore a jersey or a pullover, often with holes at the elbow.

  All woollen items jerseys, socks etc. soon had a hole to be darned. We had sewing lessons when I was around 10/11 years old. I actually did learn to darn a sock successfully.

  Brother Damian was born at home, 1st November 1949.

  Now In the seniors (separate classes for boys and girls) I was very pleased to know that we were to have swimming lessons.

  The swimming baths were at South Road, Withington, Manchester. This meant a bus ride.

  We soon began to look forward to our swimming lesson because it took up most of the afternoon. Also, I always enjoyed my cake from the baker's shop, which you could buy if you dressed quickly and went to wait for the others in the bus.

  On one particular swimming day, I was late for the afternoon school session. I had been home for my dinner (lunch) and I arrived at the school gates just as the bus taking us to the swimming baths was leaving. It was also too far away for me to attract the supervising teachers attention.

  Now the bus had to make a circular journey round the housing estate and then double back in order to get on the right route.

  Knowing this, because we had been going swimming for weeks. I turned round and ran as fast as I could to the Rosewood shops and to the big field by a roundabout, which overlooked the main road down which our school swimming bus would come.

  Racing over the field I reached a bus stop as the 'swimming' bus came round the roundabout.

  I waved my wrapped towel and the bus driver amazingly stopped. I hopped onto the bus platform and went inside the bus and sat down by a rather stunned looking teacher.

  Our other bus trip was also to Withington. We went for woodwork lessons at the Withington Secondary Modern School.

  I always enjoyed woodwork and when the new woodwork block opened at my own school with brand new tools and equipment I was over the moon.

  Soon after that, we moved about two miles to another new housing estate, 7 Alder Walk. Woodhouse Park, Manchester It was only a couple of miles away from Ringway Airport.

  In fact, building on the estate was not finished for several more years. When complete it housed approx. 10,000 people.

  Chapter 6

  Our new house was not made of bricks but of slabs of concrete with a pebble - dash finish.

  The downstairs floors were made of red asphalt. No carpet needed, just polish regularly with the recommended dark red polish. We had a rug in front of the living room fireplace.

  A dining room adjoined, making an L - shaped room (no doorway).

  There were three bedrooms and a bathroom and toilet upstairs plus front and back gardens.

  Outside there was an outhouse with a laundry room with electric lighting and a sink with hot and cold taps, a coal store and a second toilet. These were quite revolutionary to us.

  More so was our first washing machine. It was partly automatic. It also had a hand-operated wringer, which could be folded down into the machine and a hose to remove the water after washing was finished. This was done by filling a bucket through the hose and then by pouring the water down the kitchen sink. It took a few buckets of water to empty the washing machine.

  The lid that covered the drum to prevent splashing could be attached to the other side of the wringer as a tray to receive the wrung clothes.

  Now with four children, my mother was mightily relieved to have the washing machine.

  My Dad had changed his job recently after leaving the engineering factory, around 1946/7, (he had worked there for more than 25 years) to go and work for Metropolitan-Vickers (Metros)

  It was a huge engineering works, around 20,000 employees at that time.

  Apparently, Dad was not happy working there and he moved to Pertochemicals Ltd, Carrington.

  To get to work (12/15 miles away) Dad rode his bike from Woodhouse Park to Sale, (approx. 5 miles)

  He left his bike in the railway station and was then taken the rest of the way by one of the firms' lorries.

  This journey is significant, because it led to my Dad taking note that a new housing development was beginning to take place in Northern Moor, only a mile or so from Sale railway station. So he applied to the council for one of these new houses.

  Chapter 7

  When I had been in the seniors (11/15) for about a year, I finally got the grown up look. So far I had always worn short trousers. No matter how much I pleaded for long ones. You know the cry, 'all of my friends are wearing them'. No chance.

  Then I was picked for a small part in the class's Christmas Show, as a backing group singer in the presentation of the popular tunes and songs of the 1890s.

  I was told the backing group had to wear grey, long flannel trousers, so that's how I got my first pair of long trousers. I felt the Bee's Knees.

  The next spring, my sister Milly contracted Scarlet Fever. She was isolated in her bedroom for weeks, before making a complete recovery.

  The rest of us naturally, kept well clear, being scared of catching it ourselves.

  I believe it was the following year that Milly became ill again. This time it was a bout of severe earache. After suffering with it for several weeks, she was diagnosed as having a mastoid problem. The bone behind the ear was infected and she would have to have an operation. At this time, this was a serious operation. Success was not guaranteed.

  The operation took place in a Altincham Hospital and was successful but for the following three months, I had to take her each morning to the hospital outpatients for her to be checked and the dressing changed.

  We had to travel on two buses. That meant of course that I missed most of my morning school lessons as well for those three months. (as did Milly)

  Then, came the worst day of my short life. During the middle of the night my mother woke me to tell me my Dad was dead.

  I was nearly 14 years old.

  He had died from an accident at work. I was unable to comprehend the enormity of this terrible news for weeks. Mother was out of her mind.

  At the time I never knew that my mother was pregnant. Brother Phillip would be born the next February.

  The funeral service, a full requiem mass, took place at my school's church. The whole school attended as well. It was as you might imagine, an overpowering experience.

  Dad was buried with his son, my brother Edwin in Moston Cemetery. North Manchester.

  The week after my father's funeral, I had to sit my 13+ exam. This was for the Technical High School. I sat the exam using the new fountain pen my Dad had given me just three weeks before. I didn't pass.

  I did get a bike though, but that was last Christmas.

  After Philip was born, things got quite hard. Mother was obviously still badly affected by the loss of my Dad. So I had to do my bit to help.

  I did some of the family washing, glad that we had the washing machine. Unfortunately, it could not wash dirty Terry towel nappies. They had to be rinsed out by hand in cold water. I became a reluctant expert doing that job.

  At weekends I also helped preparing the dinner. I learnt to make meat and potato pies, including making the pastry.

  Then, around May, we moved to Moorland, not quite the house my Dad had applied for but just round the corner.

  This house had a front parlour, possibly to be used as a bedroom. Unfortunately, a change of government had just taken place. This had quite an effect on our new house.

  The new government immediately put financial restrictions on council building. The effects were apparent right away.

  The toilet in our bathroom was never fitted and the outhouse did not get the electric fittings or a sink with hot and cold water, which had been p
rovided in our last house in Woodhouse Park.

  Chapter 8

  That summer I went on my own to visit Aunty Vera and Uncle Joe in Eire.

  I took the ferry from Liverpool to Dublin. It took about 13 hours to complete the sea - crossing. Then a steam train, that took several hours to get to Ballyhauness. I can't remember very much of the holiday, apart from the unusual events on my journey home.

  As the train approached Dublin station, it was stopped by a red signal. We waited and waited for at least three quarters of an hour.

  My problem was that the Liverpool ferry departed at 8.pm and it was about a quarter to eight by now.

  The train had only 200/300 yards to get to the station platform and the ferry terminal was just across the road from the station.

  Many of the train passengers were going on this ferry and were by now anxious and worried about what they could do. The train reached the station platform and there was a mad rush to get the luggage, me included.

  I got off the train as fast as I could, crossing the road to the ferry terminal and saw that the ferry had sailed away from the dockside and was making it's way down to the sea.

  Then I realised that in the rush to get off the train I had left a large piece of beef, (about 20lbs weight), on the luggage rack of the train.

  A present my mother would have appreciated since we still had meat rationing at that time.

  I went anxiously to the ferry ticket office and asked what I should do. The man said that the Dun Laoghaire to Holyhead ferry left at 9pm. It was now about ten past eight.

  So I took a taxi, (three miles) there. At the ferry ticket office, I explained I had missed the Dublin ferry to Liverpool. 'Not to worry,' assured the ticket office man, as he gave me a new ticket to Manchester via via Holyhead and a refund of about six shillings. (30p).

  We sailed for Holyhead a few minutes later. The sea crossing took approx. 3 to 4 hours I actually arrived in Manchester 5/6 hours before I would have done if I had caught the Dublin ferry.

  My mother was quite surprised to see me back home so early.

  By now I was approaching 15 years of age and I would leave school at the end of the term.

  What job could I do? I had no idea and no Dad to advise me.

  So I thought that my interest in woodwork might be an option but my Headmaster, Mr Chanter suggested that my work in maths indicated that I should apply for the Town Hall (Manchester Corporation entrance examination).