I was at my brother's last week sorting out my parent's old photos and I found this one of my maternal grandad taken in 1950 when I was 2 and we lived with my grandparents. Arthur was a kind, principled and devoted man who introduced me to many activities that have shaped my life. He was the middle one of seven siblings, the first of four born to his father's second wife. He was badly injured in action in the First World War in Flanders and was hospitalised for a long while. He was nursed to health by a formidable Yorkshire woman (are there any that aren't?) from Denby Dale and she became my grandma.
My mother was brought up in Lancashire but nurtured by a huge cast of Yorkshire relatives, my grandma came from a family of 13 children. Grandad had lost the ability to straighten his left arm because of shrapnel wounds, not a big disability apart from the fact he had been a successful left-arm spin bowler and had to give up cricket which was one of his passions.
He worked most of his life in the cotton mills and his working day brought a rigid timetable to the household. The mill hooters went at 7am, 12 noon, and 5pm. He walked through the door at 12:07, ate a lunch that was pre-ordained by the day of the week, and left to return to the mill at 12:22. Fortunately for him and the rest of us, Grandma was an excellent cook - although the tripe and onions on Tuesday were only eaten by grandad - and made the house run like clockwork. This included vacuuming, dusting, stoning the step and cleaning the door brass every morning before Music while you work on the BBC light programme was finished.
Arthur worked at a mill that made plush velvet and he was always smartly turned out in a suit, polished black shoes, short sleeve pullover, a trilby hat, and gabardine in winter. He supervised quality control at the mill and all windows and doors in the house were well draped in rejected maroon plush velvet. He took snuff but only drank on Saturdays before and after the football. He was a church elder but I suspect mainly to please grandma who was active in the choir and as a volunteer looking after elderly members of the congregation. Grandad read Shakespeare, which he would quote at length, as well as the News Chronicle and the local Evening Post. He had an impish sense of humour which was not always appreciated by the rest of the household, including my mum and dad, particularly on the occasions he used to lift me onto the clothes rack in the kitchen and hoist it up to the ceiling. It was fun and I was on Grandad's side in his attempts to breach the rules of the house.
He frequently walked me around the neighbourhood when I was toddling and unlike responsible adults, he did not insist I go in the pushchair, I should walk 'that's what legs were for'. A regular destination was the local park which was a mile away with 14 streets and the main road to cross. When I took my friend Maureen to the park on an impromptu adventure one afternoon when I was three and she was four I landed in trouble. We were brought home by a friendly policeman but Maureen's parents, who ran the local newsagent and sweet shop refused to let her play with me again, it was the end of free pear drops and glasses of dandelion and burdock. Grandad shouldered the blame for showing me the way to the park and encouraging me to wander, but he continued to walk me to other places of interest such as the millpond which was deep and dangerous.
He worked alternate Saturday mornings but on his week off he always took me to the railway station to see the steam locomotives on the station platform. I was mesmerised by the smell, the power and the shape of the locomotives particularly the LMS Duchess class Pacifics that frequented the station. As I gawped at them the train drivers would ask him if I wanted to step on the footplate, and he would never refuse me the chance. This prompted me as a schoolboy to become an avid train spotter and I travelled through much of northern England bunking engine sheds, seeking out rare locomotives and enjoying the fantastic rail network that existed in the late 1950s. By the time I started secondary school, I was well travelled by trains, thanks to grandad's pocket money, and bike although my parents never knew that I rode 60 miles to Carnforth and back as a 10-year-old because there was a rare Jubilee class under repair in the sheds. I also learnt to fend for myself in the territorial pissings of boyhood survival that were endemic in finding the best stances to watch the trains.
A Rediffusion radio was located on a shelf behind his armchair and every Saturday we would listen to the football results on Sports Report at 5pm with Raymond Glendenning. It was like poetry with teams with poetic names like Partick Thistle and Wolverhampton Wanderers and the scores read out in the lilting voice which told you the result without having to hear the score. Watching Grandad check his pool coupon was an early lesson in arithmetic and geography, subjects I have always enjoyed the most. Grandad watched most of North End's home games so every second week he was not home until after the reading of the results. I sat in his chair when I was three and four and tried to remember them for him and one week I got them all correct, as he realised when he heard the latecomers reading of the scores. It was a eureka moment for him and in subsequent weeks he brought home his friends after the game and I had to recite the results to them. Ernie Rigby, the co-op manager, was so impressed that he gave me sixpence for getting Division One right and he came every week so I realised early that listening pays dividends. Apparently, Ernie's weekly quip was 'Aye, he's a good 'un Arthur'. There wasn't much else to attract a young child's attention in those days, Listen with Mother was a bit tame and watching grandma stoning the steps always made me think why does she do that?
On Saturday evenings my parents would go out and I would accompany Grandad to the Acregate Arms to buy a large jug of ale. Their friends would arrive for a card school and I was allowed to play a few hands of whist and newmarket before being subjected to a dose of Yorkshire discipline by grandma and sent to bed, even grandad could not save me. Later on, I would be awakened by Ada Hogg, my grandma's friend and a soprano from the church choir singing her party piece: Sally, a Gracie Fields' song - it could wake the dead. At the age of 4 years and 4 months, we moved to a new house about 2 miles away but I saw Grandad a couple of times a week and he always came on Friday to give me pocket money and talk about everything and anything really, we never ran out of things of interest.
When I was six it was my Grandad who took me to my first football match, a morning kick-off on Good Friday against Tottenham Hotspur and we won 2-1. I watched in awe as thirty thousand people urged their team on and I became an instant fan. By the age of eight, I was a seasoned supporter sitting on the cinders by the corner flag and watching almost all home games during the glory years of North End between 1956 and 1958 when they finished third and second in the First Division. And on Friday discussions with Grandad revealed the intricacies of the game for me. In 1964 when PNE made it to the FA Cup Final and tickets were like gold dust it was Grandad who got me one and a train ticket down to Wembley. We lost 3-2 to West Ham United, then no more than upstarts, but the consolation was being pulled by a Britannia class Pacific locomotive, Iron Duke I think, in the dying age of steam. He also taught me to bat and bowl at cricket and spent hours throwing me balls so I could practice diving catches. He died before I was offered the opportunity to play minor counties cricket but he would have been well pleased. In all of this, he was a mentor and someone whose support was unconditional whatever I did.
Later when I was at secondary school I used to call in once or twice a week on my way home from school to see them and partake in grandma's home baking. My Grandad retired in 1965 and my Grandma died the following year shortly before I went to university. He had lost the very people and activities that gave him a structure to live: his wife, his job and the timetabled regime that they provided. Although he always encouraged me to break the rules, he needed them. When I left home to go to university my dad hired a car and Grandad came with us but he seemed unusually downcast and it worried me. We had spent at least a couple of hours together every week and he was almost always upbeat, he didn't do morose. Now I would see him only three or four times a year when I returned home. I had everything in front of me but he had everything behind him. He struggled to cope on his own and whilst he remained active and walked miles he passed away just 3 years later. He had watched me grow and given me the self-belief to follow my instincts. He was slow to chide and swift to bless. It was only on reflection that I realised the impact he had made on my life. Thanks, Grandad.
He worked most of his life in the cotton mills and his working day brought a rigid timetable to the household. The mill hooters went at 7am, 12 noon, and 5pm. He walked through the door at 12:07, ate a lunch that was pre-ordained by the day of the week, and left to return to the mill at 12:22. Fortunately for him and the rest of us, Grandma was an excellent cook - although the tripe and onions on Tuesday were only eaten by grandad - and made the house run like clockwork. This included vacuuming, dusting, stoning the step and cleaning the door brass every morning before Music while you work on the BBC light programme was finished.
Arthur worked at a mill that made plush velvet and he was always smartly turned out in a suit, polished black shoes, short sleeve pullover, a trilby hat, and gabardine in winter. He supervised quality control at the mill and all windows and doors in the house were well draped in rejected maroon plush velvet. He took snuff but only drank on Saturdays before and after the football. He was a church elder but I suspect mainly to please grandma who was active in the choir and as a volunteer looking after elderly members of the congregation. Grandad read Shakespeare, which he would quote at length, as well as the News Chronicle and the local Evening Post. He had an impish sense of humour which was not always appreciated by the rest of the household, including my mum and dad, particularly on the occasions he used to lift me onto the clothes rack in the kitchen and hoist it up to the ceiling. It was fun and I was on Grandad's side in his attempts to breach the rules of the house.
He frequently walked me around the neighbourhood when I was toddling and unlike responsible adults, he did not insist I go in the pushchair, I should walk 'that's what legs were for'. A regular destination was the local park which was a mile away with 14 streets and the main road to cross. When I took my friend Maureen to the park on an impromptu adventure one afternoon when I was three and she was four I landed in trouble. We were brought home by a friendly policeman but Maureen's parents, who ran the local newsagent and sweet shop refused to let her play with me again, it was the end of free pear drops and glasses of dandelion and burdock. Grandad shouldered the blame for showing me the way to the park and encouraging me to wander, but he continued to walk me to other places of interest such as the millpond which was deep and dangerous.
He worked alternate Saturday mornings but on his week off he always took me to the railway station to see the steam locomotives on the station platform. I was mesmerised by the smell, the power and the shape of the locomotives particularly the LMS Duchess class Pacifics that frequented the station. As I gawped at them the train drivers would ask him if I wanted to step on the footplate, and he would never refuse me the chance. This prompted me as a schoolboy to become an avid train spotter and I travelled through much of northern England bunking engine sheds, seeking out rare locomotives and enjoying the fantastic rail network that existed in the late 1950s. By the time I started secondary school, I was well travelled by trains, thanks to grandad's pocket money, and bike although my parents never knew that I rode 60 miles to Carnforth and back as a 10-year-old because there was a rare Jubilee class under repair in the sheds. I also learnt to fend for myself in the territorial pissings of boyhood survival that were endemic in finding the best stances to watch the trains.
A Rediffusion radio was located on a shelf behind his armchair and every Saturday we would listen to the football results on Sports Report at 5pm with Raymond Glendenning. It was like poetry with teams with poetic names like Partick Thistle and Wolverhampton Wanderers and the scores read out in the lilting voice which told you the result without having to hear the score. Watching Grandad check his pool coupon was an early lesson in arithmetic and geography, subjects I have always enjoyed the most. Grandad watched most of North End's home games so every second week he was not home until after the reading of the results. I sat in his chair when I was three and four and tried to remember them for him and one week I got them all correct, as he realised when he heard the latecomers reading of the scores. It was a eureka moment for him and in subsequent weeks he brought home his friends after the game and I had to recite the results to them. Ernie Rigby, the co-op manager, was so impressed that he gave me sixpence for getting Division One right and he came every week so I realised early that listening pays dividends. Apparently, Ernie's weekly quip was 'Aye, he's a good 'un Arthur'. There wasn't much else to attract a young child's attention in those days, Listen with Mother was a bit tame and watching grandma stoning the steps always made me think why does she do that?
On Saturday evenings my parents would go out and I would accompany Grandad to the Acregate Arms to buy a large jug of ale. Their friends would arrive for a card school and I was allowed to play a few hands of whist and newmarket before being subjected to a dose of Yorkshire discipline by grandma and sent to bed, even grandad could not save me. Later on, I would be awakened by Ada Hogg, my grandma's friend and a soprano from the church choir singing her party piece: Sally, a Gracie Fields' song - it could wake the dead. At the age of 4 years and 4 months, we moved to a new house about 2 miles away but I saw Grandad a couple of times a week and he always came on Friday to give me pocket money and talk about everything and anything really, we never ran out of things of interest.
When I was six it was my Grandad who took me to my first football match, a morning kick-off on Good Friday against Tottenham Hotspur and we won 2-1. I watched in awe as thirty thousand people urged their team on and I became an instant fan. By the age of eight, I was a seasoned supporter sitting on the cinders by the corner flag and watching almost all home games during the glory years of North End between 1956 and 1958 when they finished third and second in the First Division. And on Friday discussions with Grandad revealed the intricacies of the game for me. In 1964 when PNE made it to the FA Cup Final and tickets were like gold dust it was Grandad who got me one and a train ticket down to Wembley. We lost 3-2 to West Ham United, then no more than upstarts, but the consolation was being pulled by a Britannia class Pacific locomotive, Iron Duke I think, in the dying age of steam. He also taught me to bat and bowl at cricket and spent hours throwing me balls so I could practice diving catches. He died before I was offered the opportunity to play minor counties cricket but he would have been well pleased. In all of this, he was a mentor and someone whose support was unconditional whatever I did.
Later when I was at secondary school I used to call in once or twice a week on my way home from school to see them and partake in grandma's home baking. My Grandad retired in 1965 and my Grandma died the following year shortly before I went to university. He had lost the very people and activities that gave him a structure to live: his wife, his job and the timetabled regime that they provided. Although he always encouraged me to break the rules, he needed them. When I left home to go to university my dad hired a car and Grandad came with us but he seemed unusually downcast and it worried me. We had spent at least a couple of hours together every week and he was almost always upbeat, he didn't do morose. Now I would see him only three or four times a year when I returned home. I had everything in front of me but he had everything behind him. He struggled to cope on his own and whilst he remained active and walked miles he passed away just 3 years later. He had watched me grow and given me the self-belief to follow my instincts. He was slow to chide and swift to bless. It was only on reflection that I realised the impact he had made on my life. Thanks, Grandad.
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