“Blake Street, the steepest hill in Sheffield”

I was interested in the letter last week about Blake Street being the steepest hill in Sheffield.

I had a chuckle about it as it brought back memories of my school days during the war.

I went to Burgoyne Road school. We had to go up and down Blake Street on our way to Upperthorpe swimming baths every week.

Coming back we had to wait for the teacher, Pop Morris, to catch us up at the top of Blake Street before we could cross the road.

Then we had the same performance on Thursday afternoons when we walked up to Northfield at Crookes to play football and cricket.

Then, when we went to woodwork, we had to go to Morley Street school on our own. No teacher went with us there.

Worst of all, if we went in the morning session we had to get back to Burgoyne Road school as quick as we could or it was a cold dinner that awaited us.

Imagine that today. But we had legs to run and walk with. Not like today, carried about everywhere.

For all that, I think people of my age lived through the best of times.

When I left school at 14 in December 1946, I got a job straight away. You could finish one job on a Friday and start a new job on the Monday.

Not like today. My son is living on his private pension at 58.

He worked as an engineer for Comet until it went bust. Since then he has been made redundant twice, has had all sorts of rubbish jobs and minimum wages.

He said to me when I asked him why he was finishing work that he was earning more 20 years ago and was fed up with it.

He and thousands more married men don’t show up as unemployed because they get nothing from the State. They are living on their private pensions until they are 67.

So much for the Northern Powerhouse. I think it’s a power station they are talking about.