WEDNESDAY, 21 SEPTEMBER 2011
Woodcroft.......Capturing history for the next generation. The joys of winter!
The stream we called Little Blackpool, in winter . |
Here is the very stream we all knew and loved, and where we spent many, many happy hours, oblivious of the time, till our parents called us in for meals.
Peter Fisher, who has collected these photos, and catalogued them, with Ken Stott, (who is still travelling to see people, one as far away as the Isle of Wight(!), and videoing their recollections of those days,) said to me when we all met,
" I remember my mum, coming up to the end of the streets, and shouting "Peeeeter! Peeeter!" in a loud voice which slid up to a higher pitch towards the end. And he pretended not to hear........as many of us did I suppose! We were enjoying ourselves too much!
Two of the five trees in the fields which are now covered with houses. |
Looking across to the five trees from the top of the streets where we lived, now a sea of houses . |
fast run, unless the snow was quite deep and compacted. A tuft sticking up in the snow could tip up the sledge My dad made one which he painted red, and found some old metal runners to finish it off. It was a flyer!
At times we hitched more than one sledge together and went down in a long line, until occasionally we all fell off!
Phrases like " I'm going to go down belly flat this time" spring to mind, as we ran along each pushing our sledge to gain momentum, before flinging ourselves flat on top as it took off, then whizzing down at a terrific lick to the bottom. And none of us in those days would have even seen a bob sleigh team in action. But the sense of speed gathering and the swish of the snow track were a delight!
Once at the bottom we set off to climb back to the top and begin again.
Eventually, it inevitably was time to go indoors. Gloves were peeled off and hung near the roaring coal fire, the same for the socks. By now the wellingtons had ceased to even let the layers of socks keep feet and toes warm.
This led to chilblains, horrors!
Hands tingled as they thawed and often the pain was quite strident as the warmth returned. I used to soak mine in a bowl of warm water and hated the sensation. But it didn't deter us from repeating the exercise night after night until the pristine snow turned to mush.
Pickles's farm.Demolished to make way for buildings. |
Sledging in the fields behind the streets of Woodcroft, before these spaces were built on. |
Looking towards the woods owned by Cicely Brooks |
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