A great disservice
Sitting here on this lovely Saturday morning I peruse the readers letters page with disbelief .
Howard Greaves’ greedy developers letter leaps out of the page.
I fully agreed with his views on the proposed demolition of that grand building that is the coroner’s court on Nursery Street.
He goes on to shame the architectural banality that has brought us the numerous flats developments around our city. Once again I find myself in full agreement with him and presumably the Hallamshire Historic Buildings group.
Howard then goes on to plead for the scheme to implement the Castle Gate conservation area. This is where my blood pressure goes through the roof.
To my limited knowledge, not one word by him or his fellow members has been raised in protest at the destruction of Sheffield’s oldest area, the Markets area.
This shameful act has been brought about over the last 25 years by our town planners backed by a minority who cannot see beyond the end of their noses.
The demolition of all the markets, including the Castle Market is a blot on the name of those who claim to be defenders of our city’s heritage.
They are salivating at the mouth at the prospect of digging up a pile of rubble as well as a rusty nail or two that may or may not exist under what was our markets, while completely ignoring the fact that the buildings erected on this site over the last 50-odd years found exactly nowt to get excited about, even though the foundations for those buildings dug down to below river levels on adjoining perimeter.
Hallamshire’s refusal to champion the historical markets area they have done our city a great disservice.
I wonder how many folks can remember the farmhouse that stood just up from Norfolk Park entrance gates near the cafe. I believe Guildford Avenue now runs across it.
During the 1950s when I was growing up it was like being in the countryside. Fields of grain, cow pastures and some lovely footpaths that took you through woodland and meadows.
The farmland ran from the houses on City Road to Black Bank on East Bank Road.
There were three ponds too. One was where the tram stop is at Abourthorne Road, it was very small and there was an old barn by the side of it. There were two ponds at the entrance to Jervis Lum. We called Jervis Lum, Cherry Woods.
Like most children in the 50s, we didn’t have things like today’s young folks have. But I and many of my school friends had this wonderful oasis of being able to get out in the fresh air and “countryside”. I was very sad when the area was turned into a housing estate.
All the lovely greenery and of course wildlife gone forever. Not forgetting the iron kissing gate at the top of Spring Lane and the old quarry where you could walk down to the “burning tip”, that is now a football pitch.
I would be interested to hear from anyone else who recalls those days.
A reformed character
A while ago I came across this story in the national media.
Harry Turner, 86, had returned to his Perth home after forgetting to take a newspaper to a visit to his local pub.
Mr Turner said he discovered a housebreaker in his bedroom with the top drawer of his bedroom cabinet open and “felt sorry” for the would-be thief.
The housebreaker fled after Mr Turner turned his back to lock his front door after offering the man a lift.
I would suggest that this experience has done more to reform that burglar than anything that the police or courts could hand out.
Perhaps now, even the thought of burglary is unbearable to the burglar who came across a man without vengeance in his heart. And at no cost to the taxpayer.
John C Fowler
Leverton Gardens, S11
Oh Brother, it’s unfair
Well, try to restrain yourselves, Celebrity Big Brother is back on Thursday.
Historically, contestants are either on their way up or have already gone most of the way down, so you either don’t know who they are or have forgotten who they were.
A few can be identified as, for example, a Loose Women panellist, a soap (or former soap) star or a former MP.
There’s usually the obligatory heavily tattooed playboy and glamour models botoxed up to the nines with implants everywhere and the kind of fake bosoms that could explode at high altitudes.
There are invariably explosive rows with contestants swearing like sailors’ parrots, their tongues loosening more and more as the alcohol flows. They snore and trump like chainsaws and there’s a general decorum deficit all round.
True, it can be fascinating (to some) to see how such disparate/desperate individuals relate to each other in such close proximity, especially when egos clash.
Also, it can be positive when some of them bond and friendships have developed between people who would not ordinarily have met or socialised. Relationships have formed, but most explode or evaporate, either while in the house or shortly after they leave.
The bust-ups can be of considerable magnitude with racism, sexism and other ‘isms’ rearing their ugly heads.
Some contestants get distressed and although they say they are screened by psychologists beforehand and counselling is available throughout the show, I’m not convinced of its effectiveness. Some of the games they play have been brutal; one of the worst ones entailed destroying letters from loved ones for those who lose the game. Unforgivable.
Sadly, it always, allegedly, far exceeds the likes of GPs: Behind Closed Doors in the C5 ratings.
These are people who work tirelessly and don’t expect any of the glorification or massive payouts that celebrities do.
Still, that’s celebrity culture for you, and its addictive nature. It’s an unfair world.