Sweet shop run by my mum has now been changed into houses

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New Zealand

Further memories of the New Zealand area and its long-gone corner shops have been sent to Bygones. Jane Goddard reports.

WHEN Phil Garner read Jill Brownsword’s recent reminiscences about the New Zealand area of Derby, he was transported back to his teenage years.
Many memories of those early years in the late 1950s and early 1960s came flooding back as he read about the shops and businesses frequented by Mrs Brownsword.
Mr Garner, who now lives in Littleover, said: “I spent most of my teens in Surrey Street as my mum kept a sweets and tobacco shop there. It must have been the one described in Mrs Brownsword’s article as being kept by the Misses Kaye, as it was next door to Mrs Jennings’ wool shop at the top of the street.
“Obviously, Mrs Brownsword’s memories are from an earlier period. My mum’s name was Millie Garner.

I didn’t like being around children, so school was like a double life sentence

Writer Philip Whiteland, of Doveridge, shares early memories of his school days in Burton.

IN my last column, I was bemoaning the fact that the uncles in my family (and it was always  uncles for some reason)  used to say: “You should enjoy your school years, Philip, they’re the happiest days of your life”. 
My views on school didn’t really change dramatically from when I was five – and they were pretty dismal then.
About three weeks into my formal education, I apparently decided that I didn’t want to participate any more.
I can actually remember something about this and I think the problem was that I suddenly realised I was stuck at school until I was at least 15.
As this seemed like a double life sentence, with no chance of remission, I determined that they could stick this idea. 
It wasn’t school per se that I didn’t like. I quite enjoyed learning new things and being creative. I just wasn’t all that keen on other children, particularly in any number.

Food was last thing on my mind as I fought back travel sickness

Contributor Philip Whiteland’s recent observations about car journeys as a child in the 1950s and 60s prompted some stomach-churning memories for Gwen Cooper, of Walton on Trent.

PHILIP brought it all back to me - how I used to hate car journeys. Oh, I know I should have been grateful to my sister’s boyfriend for fitting us all in to his Austin 8 and taking us to see granddad in Kniveton. “All” being Mum, Dad, his girlfriend (my sister Christine), me and younger brother and sister, together with a large picnic basket, which my mother would never go anywhere without.

I don’t know if it was living through a war, or having so many mouths to feed, but she would always be prepared so we wouldn’t starve. Food was the last thing on my mind, though, as, like Philip, I had a dread of suffering from car sickness. My mother flatly refused to believe I felt sick or, indeed, my poor brother who suffered from the same affliction. She had the idea we were attention seeking when we screamed “stop the car, now!”.

On one occasion, we had travelled to Bakewell Show by bus from Drakelow, as was our want every year, Dad having been brought up there. In the 1950s, the old charabanc rattled along churning up our insides while some inconsiderate person at the front of the bus proceeded to puff cigarette smoke all over us. Even Dad, who enjoyed his twist tobacco filled pipe, felt ill. We were so relieved to get off the bus but our mother, thinking again that we would need sustenance, ushered us all into the Bakewell Pudding Shop for a slap-up meal followed, of course, by the famous Bakewell pudding.

Cadets scraped cinema screen with bayonets during display

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Derby Sea Cadet Corps, Richard Attenborough, Royal Navy

Gordon Hodson, of Mickleover, looks back on his National Service years with the Royal Navy in the 1950s.

Members of the Derby Sea Cadet Corps at the Gaumont cinema in about 1952. Gordon is on the second row from the front, second from the left.

HAVING read with interest  the experiences of some of your readers during their National Service, I feel I ought to add a few words in support of the Senior Service.
I suppose I must start by explaining why I was able to spend my National Service with the Royal Navy.
In late 1956, National Service was about to be phased out. When I reported to the recruiting office in Green Lane, Derby, the chief petty officer asked for three lines, Army, RAF and Navy. The longest queue was for the Navy.
He then told everyone except me to choose Army or RAF as, apart from one vacancy in the Marines, no one could join the Navy.
This I put down to the fact that I had a background in the Navy. My naval career started when, at the  age of 12, having  spent a few weeks in the Scouts, I decided I would rather be in the Sea Cadets.
I went along to Whitecross Street from my home in Parker Street. My parents owned the rather grandly named Parker Street Hardware and Cycle Company.
My Mum had bought the empty property on the corner of Nuns Street at auction for the sum of £550.

Baking for my Mum in her 1950s Flavel oven was so often a recipe for disaster

Writer Philip Whiteland, of Doveridge, shares some more amusing tales from his childhood in Burton in the 1950s.

THIS month’s musings were triggered by my wife endeavouring to bake some cup cakes with the assistance (or otherwise) of our 18-month-old grandson, all of which took me back to my own childhood culinary efforts. 
Mum didn’t do a great deal of baking, largely because she rarely had the time or the inclination but also because she was cursed throughout her married life with a succession of unreliable, second-hand ovens.
Our first oven, a positively Victorian-looking Flavel, surely could not possibly have been at the cutting edge of food technology, even in the early 1950s when my parents married.
It had a temperamental nature and would often take it into its head to burn one side (not necessarily the same side) of anything placed in its innards for baking.
Thus, my favourite chocolate fairy cakes, which formed a much appreciated part of my “packing up” for playground consumption at school, were usually somewhat blackened on one side.

Hot weather, dust and traffic made mockery of preparations

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National Service

Robin Harvey, of Whatstandwell, shares

Robin is on the back row, fourth from the left, with other members of his new RAF National Service intake in 1956.

memories of his National Service days with the RAF in the late 1950s.

 IT was in May 1956 that I received my call-up papers to report to RAF Cardington, just outside Bedford.
Rail tickets were supplied, of course. All that happened when we got there was that we were informed about what was in store for us National Servicemen.
Proposed trades had already been sorted at our initial, local interviews, so all we got was a general history of the RAF and we were also kitted out with our uniforms and so on.
After about a week’s induction, we were all put on trains to our various square bashing camps.
I went to West Kirby, near Liverpool, where RAF non-commissioned officers (NCOs) took complete charge. It was to be our new home for the next few weeks.
Here we learnt square bashing (service slang for learning to march correctly), underwent physical fitness training, rifle drill (use, maintenance and firing of a rifle) and map reading. With my cycling experience (I was a cycle racer), I could do this anyway, but I kept it under my hat – it did not pay to show how clever or not you were as you could soon find yourself at the front of the class “teaching” the rest, while the NCO or an officer looked on.

The writing was on the wall for Kathleen after chalk incident

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Firs Estate School

 Our story about the 125th anniversary of Firs Estate School and the reunion held at the end of May (Bygones, May 14) has prompted several readers to write in with their memories. Sarah Powlson reports.

AN appearance in front of the whole of Firs Estate School during morning assembly and several hours standing under the hall clock were the  punishments when young Kathleen Radford was caught writing on a wall with some chalk.
Kathleen, now Walsh, of Grimshaw Avenue, Alvaston, sent us her memories of her mostly happy years at the school after seeing our article about its125th anniversary recently.

Radiation leak scare cut short Tony’s site visit to Windscale

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International Combustion Ltd

Former Derbeian Tony Bryan, a retired illustrator who now lives in Dorset, looks back on his first working days as an apprentice at International Combustion.

I STARTED at International Combustion Ltd in October 1958.
I had finished at Bemrose Grammar School on the Friday afternoon (I had had to return to the school after the summer holidays to re-take my GCE maths) and started work the following Monday  at 7.30am.

Balaclava Road paper round taught me a lot about life and value of money

Recent memories about the Balaclava Road and Normanton Barracks areas of Derby  have prompted Geoffrey Barker, right,  of Allestree, to write in with his own recollections about his days as a paper boy on the streets  other readers have mentioned.

I STARTED work as a paperboy delivering the Derby Evening Telegraph for Bill Basford, the newsagent in Balaclava Road, at the age of 13 in 1959.
I well remember being in awe of his daughter, Zoe, who was a stunning, tall, dark-haired and statuesque girl whose boyfriend was David Hudson. I recall them being married in about 1960.

Shirley’s husband had to pull vehicles off muddy show ground when it rained

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County Show

Shirley’s mum and dad, Joyce and Harold Davenport, left, with Percy Thrower and a member of the Alvaston Floral Art Group.

WHEN she was young, Shirley Smith had a wonderful time travelling the country with her parents who were both keen and talented flower arrangers.
And, for many years, she helped out at Derbyshire County Show when her father and then her husband were show managers of the floral art marquees.
Her parents, Harold and Joyce Davenport, were both Royal Horticultural Society judges and were founding members of Alvaston Floral Art Group in the early 1950s.
When she was a teenager, she used to travel around the country to different shows with her parents.
“It was an amazing and wonderful life,” she said. “We would work through the night in the big marquees putting up exhibitions.”
Shirley said her mother competed at Chelsea Flower Show and her father won medals for his cacti and alpine collections.
“We used to travel by train and had little wooden troughs with wire handles to carry the flowers.
“My father was one of the first men to do flower arranging – it just wasn’t done back then. He was show manager of the floral art marquees at the County Show from the late 1950s when it was held at Elvaston Castle,” said Shirley, of Chaddesden. “My mum, sister and I all helped in some way. It was great fun.
“My father died in 1972 and my late husband, Norman Smith, took over as manager.
“We had our caravan on site for the weekend and, the day after the show, my husband spent time towing cars and other vehicles off the very muddy ground with our Land Rover as it often rained on the day of the show.”
Shirley said she would love to hear from anyone who knew her mum and dad through the floral art group, which was held at the Jubilee Hall, Coulton Lane, Alvaston,  their work at County Shows, or for any other reason.
She has sent us a photo of her parents and another Alvaston group member meeting the famous gardener, horticulturist, broadcaster and writer Percy Thrower when he visited the group’s exhibition at one County Show.
Shirley sent us her photo and memories after seeing pictures of the County Show sent in by Peter Ditheridge, of  Shelton Lock (Bygones, April 25).
Do you remember Shirley’s mum and dad or the Alvaston floral group? Add your comments.