A community of proud people has disappeared

I RECENTLY attended the Grand Opening of the new B & Q Warehouse in Bolton and, as I drove on to the huge car park, my mind went back to 1949 when the area was a maze of streets of two-up and two-down houses that had been built in the late 1800s for the workers at the nearby mills and factories.

At the time, I was a Temporary Referencer, employed by the Rating and Valuation Office, doing a revaluation of property for rating purposes. It was an undertaking that should have been completed some years earlier, but had been put off due to the War. My particular duty was to survey the properties, measure and record their external and internal dimensions and report back at the office in Mawdesley Street where the professional valuers calculated their value for Rating purposes.

I went equipped with a folding ruler, a note pad and authority to enter the premises if and when necessary. Mostly the survey could be done without the need to go into the houses, but when I did, everyone fully co-operated. On the rare occasions when it was necessary to ask for permission to enter a house, I sometimes got a surprise.

On one occasion, as I entered the house, I found the living room full of newspapers, feet deep all around the walls, and an old man sitting close in front of an open fire, so close to it that the insides of the knees of his trousers were scorched away, showing blackened skin through. That house was an astonishing fire hazard.

At another door, I was greeted by a woman of indeterminable age, wearing a disreputable grey nightdress, torn and open right down the front. She grinned at me and invited me in. I declined and completed the survey, using a certain amount of guesswork from the outside.

At another, the lady of the house let me in, but spoke in a very hushed voice. All the doors and doorknobs opened smoothly and quietly, which indicated that they were well lubricated and that an engineer lived there. I went upstairs to measure the back bedroom and found the bed occupied by a dead man who had been expertly laid out. Little wonder the house was quiet.

At yet another house, I was offered a cup of tea which was very welcome as it was November and I was feeling the cold. The lady was young and very pretty and talked to me about her children. She asked me if I was married. I said yes, then to my astonishment, she suddenly invited me to go upstairs with her! I made an excuse and left, but I was glad of the cup of tea.

The biggest surprise of all was at a large house on Higher Bridge Street. I needed to go inside as it was of a peculiar shape. In an upstairs room, there was a cot with a sleeping baby in it and to my horror, on looking up I saw a hole in the ceiling above the cot, and through that, a hole in the roof and above that I could see the sky. The baby slept on undisturbed.

The area I covered was from the junction of Halliwell Road, Waterloo Street, Cooper Street and Higher Bridge Street. Who now remembers Palmerston Street, Luther Street, Calvin Street or Croasdale Street among others?

Before setting out on my walk from Mawdesley Street to the area, I would call in at Marks and Spencer on Deansgate (where it still is, although much smaller then) for a cup of coffee. At that time, they had a small caf at the back of the store. As we Referencers were "unestablished" Civil Servants, we were not paid any expenses, so the coffee and any transport costs we had to pay ourselves.

One particularly happy memory of the period was that I "did" the area around Howard Street and in Howard Street was a cinema call the Empire. Luxurious it was not, but it did screen foreign films of which I was particularly fond. I remember seeing "The Bicycle Thieves", "Bitter Rice" and "La Belle et la Bte" among others. My wife and I travelled in the evening from Farnworth to do so. A two-tram journey in those days.

As I parked my car on the huge B & Q car park, I saw again in my mind's eye, those streets where, over 50 years ago, the houses opened out on to the pavement, front steps and window sills brightly "donkey-stoned" with walled and cobbled back streets with ash pits and outdoor toilets, each house occupied in the main by honest, respectable folk. A community of proud Bolton people which has, alas, now disappeared.

Eric Tatton

Plodder Lane

Farnworth SOME time ago I attended the Grand Opening of the new B & Q Warehouse in Bolton and, as I drove on to the huge car park, my mind went back to 1949 when the area was a maze of streets of two-up and two-down houses that had been built in the late 1800s for the workers at the nearby mills and factories.

At the time, I was a Temporary Referencer, employed by the Rating and Valuation Office, doing a revaluation of property for rating purposes. It was an undertaking that should have been completed some years earlier, but had been put off due to the War. My particular duty was to survey the properties, measure and record their external and internal dimensions and report back at the office in Mawdesley Street where the professional valuers calculated their value for Rating purposes.

I went equipped with a folding ruler, a note pad and authority to enter the premises if and when necessary. Mostly the survey could be done without the need to go into the houses, but when I did, everyone fully co-operated. On the rare occasions when it was necessary to ask for permission to enter a house, I sometimes got a surprise.

On one occasion, as I entered the house, I found the living room full of newspapers, feet deep all around the walls, and an old man sitting close in front of an open fire, so close to it that the insides of the knees of his trousers were scorched away, showing blackened skin through. That house was an astonishing fire hazard.

At another door, I was greeted by a woman of indeterminable age, wearing a disreputable grey nightdress, torn and open right down the front. She grinned at me and invited me in. I declined and completed the survey, using a certain amount of guesswork from the outside.

At another, the lady of the house let me in, but spoke in a very hushed voice. All the doors and doorknobs opened smoothly and quietly, which indicated that they were well lubricated and that an engineer lived there. I went upstairs to measure the back bedroom and found the bed occupied by a dead man who had been expertly laid out. Little wonder the house was quiet.

At yet another house, I was offered a cup of tea which was very welcome as it was November and I was feeling the cold. The lady was young and very pretty and talked to me about her children. She asked me if I was married. I said yes, then to my astonishment, she suddenly invited me to go upstairs with her! I made an excuse and left, but I was glad of the cup of tea.

T

he biggest surprise of all was at a large house on Higher Bridge Street. I needed to go inside as it was of a peculiar shape. In an upstairs room, there was a cot with a sleeping baby in it and to my horror, on looking up I saw a hole in the ceiling above the cot, and through that, a hole in the roof and above that I could see the sky. The baby slept on undisturbed.

The area I covered was from the junction of Halliwell Road, Waterloo Street, Cooper Street and Higher Bridge Street. Who now remembers Palmerston Street, Luther Street, Calvin Street or Croasdale Street among others?

Before setting out on my walk from Mawdesley Street to the area, I would call in at Marks and Spencer on Deansgate (where it still is, although much smaller then) for a cup of coffee. At that time, they had a small caf at the back of the store. As we Referencers were "unestablished" Civil Servants, we were not paid any expenses, so the coffee and any transport costs we had to pay ourselves.

One particularly happy memory of the period was that I "did" the area around Howard Street and in Howard Street was a cinema call the Empire. Luxurious it was not, but it did screen foreign films of which I was particularly fond. I remember seeing "The Bicycle Thieves", "Bitter Rice" and "La Belle et la Bte" among others. My wife and I travelled in the evening from Farnworth to do so. A two-tram journey in those days.

As I parked my car on the huge B & Q car park, I saw again in my mind's eye, those streets where, over 50 years ago, the houses opened out on to the pavement, front steps and window sills brightly "donkey-stoned" with walled and cobbled back streets with ash pits and outdoor toilets, each house occupied in the main by honest, respectable folk. A community of proud Bolton people which has, alas, now disappeared.