Today’s Star columnist: Ron Clayton

Ron Clayton
Ron Clayton
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And now for something completely different.

I was going to drone on about how Bonfire Night/the Fifth of November/or aspects of it- call it what you will - is being slowly eradicated from our social calendar- and that’s over my lifetime.

I was going to reminisce about bangers under bin lids and the art of stuffing a guy and Bengal Matches and Jumping Crackers - when we didn’t have to have Police Teams all around the place readied for Anti Social Behaviour.

So I have- because Sheffield - that particular Sheffield where those of us who inhabit it are told’ you have more behind you than in front of you’ -is built on more than Seven Hills -its foundations are sentiment and nostalgia. That of course applies to this ‘sceptered isle’ as a whole as my chum David Templeman sagely pointed out.

It’s a slowly darkening Monday afternoon and I feel strangely content as I get my first taste of Piri Piri chicken and gaze- like many others- at the glass panels being hoisted onto the Carbuncle/Diamond just below Weston Bank Roundabout- where another Heart of the City has been and is being created.

Adjacent was Butlers Balti which had Butlers Dining Rooms as its predecessor and appropriately -as we are near Jericho Street- there is a gap where the walls came tumbling down- at the end is a recently opened Chinese eatery -which I must try when I am hungry enough.

If Sheffield thinks that such an enterprising and lovely bunch of folk as the Chinese are going to hang around while we set up a Chinatown-forget it - they have started up already.

I have had a good hike across the Ponderosa- where the Chinese cook was called Hop Sing- remember?

Where a solitary couple of students were playing lacrosse and had a potter around the Netherthorpe, Smithfields and Solly Street area and the back of Red Hill.

Seen Meadow Street-well were it was -where my ain folk came from.

Seen incongorous things like red telephone boxes by high rises and how the old Sheffield metal trades buildings-so long under appreciated - are part of the new tapestry of my ain city.