25 YEARS AGO

From the Evening News, September 7, 1975

SOME beauty queens in this week's Miss Great Britain contest looked like 'haggard old women', a local hairdresser said today. So incensed is he at the old-fashioned back-combed and lacquered locks of the glamour girls that he has thrown down a challenge to next year's finalists: 'Show me a good modern hair-cut and I'll give you £100.'

The hairdresser, Mr Andrew Higgin, aged 31. who owns five salons in the North-west, including Bolton, said today that his £100 prize offer had been accepted by the organisers, Lancaster Council.

50 YEARS AGO

From the Evening News, September 7, 1950

THE heavy gales which swept many parts of the British Isles last night, dislocating shipping and road traffic, had spent little of their fury early today. Residents in Birches-rd., Turton Bottoms, last night waded knee-deep in black, muddy water which was swirling two feet deep in their homes as they endeavoured to save their belongings from the worst floods in the area for 14 years.

125 YEARS AGO

From the Evening News, September 7, 1875

SIR,- Tuesday evening brought my steps over the hills to Chapel Town on a business mission, thence on the highway to Bromley Cross, and Bradshaw Chapel being on my chart I steered my course to that village, by what is known amongst pedestrian mariners as 'Rigby Bridge', where a difficulty and an alarming danger presented themselves, overcome only by the greatest caution and presence of mind.

At the gable of a cottage there is, or rather used to be, a plank or two thrown across the stream, Bradshaw Brook, with a handrail on each side to ship passengers from one shore to the other. Tuesday night about nine o'clock, it was almost pitch dark, but being somewhat familiar with the exact point of entrance to the timber crossing, I got on a few paces when my left leg slipped though an opening, which brought the whole body to a deadlock. So there I was, in the 'blackness of darkness', between earth and heaven, but fortunately with a sober head and a clear conscience.

By good generalship my leg was drawn out of limbo, when I saw by the torturings of the old bridge that had I gone another step in advance there would have been awaiting, in cricketer's and pugilistic slang, a 'huge drive', or the 'head in chancery', either of which might have been equal to lockjaw.

I sought out another passage, when by the dimness of a light from Rigby Cottage was espied a little lower down the stream another timber crossing, but on nearing it further approach was barricaded, and I had to climb a railing some yard and a half in altitude, and again had to creep like a snail into Rigby Lane.

Is there no owner, nobody in particular, responsible to the disgraceful state of affairs, neither private nor public?

I am, sir, A Boltonian.