May2011

Your letters

Caught up in the war effort

At the start of World War Two my friend Philip and I were too young to have explored our immediate Sheffield countryside with any intent. However, as the years passed our interest grew, particularly when access was forbidden by notices such as Keep Out – War Department.

On one occasion we set off on our bicycles towards Fox House, with our regular stop at the Clarion Hut for refreshments. We dropped to where Burbage Brook met the road and leaned our cycles in the vicinity of the Toad’s Mouth – an imposing collection of gritstone rocks. We heard a number of nearby big bangs and imagined they had come from bombs exploding at the back of Fox House. Many had been tipped there when they had not exploded after being dropped on Sheffield during the 1940 blitz.

To the left of Burbage Dale were two striking features. The first, Carl Wark, was an ancient British hill fort which has a stone of some twenty to thirty tons which rocks when walked across. The second is Higger Tor which stands even higher

and displays a marvellous collection of exposed gritstone rocks. To the east is the scarp slope of Burbage Edge. Our path followed the river which drained the valley.

We progressed about thirty to forty yards/metres when a commotion broke out. Up jumped army officers, screaming at us and holding poles with flags. This was repeated on both flanks of the dale. Clouds of smoke disappeared, exposing two armies.

The one on the left was manned by the regular army, and protecting Sheffield on the right was the Home Guard. Apparently there was a mix of live and blank armaments being deployed. We did not stay long but gathered that the opposing forces were not too impressed with Philip and me and suggested we took our bikes elsewhere.

We were consequently very proud to tell folks that we had stopped a war. We had also filled in a little gap in our knowledge and could complete our Bartholomew’s half-inch maps with the words “and here be beasties”.

Michael Hill, Sheffield

Fond childhood memories

I recently read A Boys Own Dale by Terry Wilson. I must say this was the best book I have read in years. I was instantly transported back to my childhood as we shared the same birth year.

All the memories of growing up flooded back; the scrapes we got into
and the adventures we had.

I was also a boy from a working class background who went to the grammar school and probably didn’t make the most of it. The influence of a loving family shone through and the author carried me with him as he roamed the Dales doing the things that real boys do.

How sad that the present younger generation cannot sample those special things we did without fear of the big wide world; you cannot find fun like this on a computer. Thank you, Terry, you made my weekend – I could not put the book down and did not want the story to end.

John Craven, Baildon, West Yorks

Dinner on a wing

I was most interested in the article about Jill Warwick trapping moths at Nosterfield (March).

About two and a half years ago we came out of the Freemason’s Arms at Nosterfield at about 10.30pm, not, I hasten to add, any better for drink.

On the other side of the road was a small field of recently cut grass. Flying above it was a large group of black headed gulls. They were catching and eating numerous large white moths. What surprised us was that they were catching them on the wing like swallows. We had never seen such behaviour before.

The numbers of the gulls increased as we watched and, sadly, the numbers of moths rapidly decreased. Is this a common occurrence?

Len Carlisle, Leyburn

Scottish-yorkshire mix up

I thoroughly endorse Ian McMillan’s theory that ‘Yorkshire is Scotland is Yorkshire’ (March). I am sure I could get several hundred more endorsements on his theory from people here in New Zealand.

Having been born in Dewsbury and believing myself to have a typical West Riding accent and the eloquent vocabulary of a Dewsburian, I have always been proud of my native tongue. Moving to New Zealand some years ago I found myself in a small town where the locals were very friendly but not used to many ‘imports’ coming to their town.

I got to know many people through introductions and a wave and a cheery hello. When tourists came to town I would listen to the accents as the people got off the coaches and would smile a contented smile to hear accents from Yorkshire, Birmingham and many other parts of the UK.

At my place of work I heard about a new member of staff from Scotland. Had I met him yet? No, I would say, but was looking forward to it as it would be a chance to catch up with someone from ‘home’, even though his home was several hours further north of mine.

The more people kept telling me about him the more I thought we would get on. Eventually I was invited to a party and hoped I might meet the Scotsman there.

When I arrived my friend introduced me to everyone as Paul from Scotland. It turned out the locals were not strong on accents and my beautiful Yorkshire tones were mistaken for Scottish ones. A real dent to my Yorkshire pride.

Paul Castlehouse, Levin, New Zealand

Reputations at stake

I would like to correct any misconceptions your readers may have gained by reading the article by Ian McMillan regarding the comparison between Scotsmen and Yorkshiremen.

The generosity of Scotsmen was indicated by the fact that when a Scotsman opens his wallet the moths fly out whereas when a Yorkshireman opens his wallet not only does the picture of the Queen blink when the note is exposed to the light, but the ossified skeletons of moths drop out when the wallet is inverted and shaken.

It is a slur on Yorkshire people to say they are as miserly as Scots people. The true definition of a Yorkshireman is a Scotsman with his generosity removed. (Some from the other place over the midden think this is a surgical operation performed shortly after birth.)

In truth, the average Yorkshireman makes Arkwright, of Open All Hours fame, look like a spendthrift. I trust your columnist will in future desist from such scurrilous rumours besmirching the good name of Yorkshire folk.

Michael Cartwright (from a safe place in exile in Oxfordshire)

Tick tick down the family

Thank you for the very interesting article about clocks (March). I am the proud owner of a grandfather clock that was willed to my grandmother in 1903.

Grannie was the eldest granddaughter of Nathaniel Fisher Walker of West Littleton, Gloucestershire. Over the years the clock has travelled with the family from Gloucestershire to Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, Sunderland and now to me.

As a child living in Beeston, Nottingham, I was allowed to stand and watch my grandfather wind the clock. I never imagined in the late 1940s that I would one day be the owner and be able to actually wind it each day. While having the clock restored six years ago, I was told that it would have been made about 1740. Now I wonder whether Nathaniel bought it locally second hand, or if it had also been willed to him.

Until reading the article, I never realised that mechanical clocks enabled time to be measured in fixed intervals.

I love the sound of the ‘tick tock’ more than ever now. Again, thank you for the article and my kind regards to clock repairer John Walker.

Mrs P Anne Farrow, Tyne and Wear

Can you help?

I’m trying to trace a portrait painting of my mum, Margaret Hepple, done at Bentley High School while she was a pupil there from 1954 upwards. She’s not quite sure of the year the painting was done. I have been searching for three years, it is my mother’s last wish to see the painting or a photo of it.

One day a man was walking around and asked the school if they would mind if he painted my mum. The picture was framed and hung there until my mum moved to Highfields or left.

I cannot find any record of the artist and I called Doncaster Archives who said they held no information on that school. I know that the artist who engraved the Doncaster Mansion House guest book walked round schools in the 1950s painting children, uncommisioned I assume.

Can anyone help?

Donne Molle, email: molle2005uk@hotmail.co.uk

Family Quest

I am researching my mother’s ancestors and am looking for any help or old photos if possible.

My mother’s name was Hilda Armitage, born 27.6.1877 in Pudsey, West Yorkshire. Her parents were Jane Ann Armitage, née Cassell, and William Armitage. Jane Ann was born at Snaith, 18.1.1851. Her parents were Joseph and Elizabeth née Hanby.

My mother’s siblings were Joseph Cassell, born 7.12.1873; Arthur, born 10.11.1875; Florence, born 2.6.1879. Hilda was the only one to have children. She married Herbert Rhymes at Pudsey Parish Church on 14.8.1920 and had three children – Stanley Armitage, born 26.3.1922; Dennis Armitage, born 25.12.1927 and me, Beryl, born 8.2.1930.

I think my great-grandparents were Joseph Armitage and Hannah Hodgson who were married on 30.5.1841. They had four children – Ned (born 1842); William (born 1843); Mary (born 1845); Oliver (born 1847).

My grandparents died before I was born and I have never seen a photograph of them. Perhaps someone has some old photos – it might help, too, to verify my great-grandparents. I hope someone can help.

Beryl Depledge, email: beryldep@talktalk.net


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