Posh way to tuppence

“KEEP poshing it down,” she said, “Don’t leave it standing too long, and pour some more hot water on it in five minutes. I’ll not be gone long, just got to get Grandad’s pint o’ beer.” Gran picked up the jug off the top of the old wooden table, unfastened the safety pin that held together her worn pinny, and rolling her thin, grey cardigan sleeves down over her old knarled hands, opened the back door, eased her buxom figure through it, and disappeared down the back gennel.

Wash day was always great fun. I’d get tuppence for poshing the clothes up and down in the dolly tub, and sometimes, if Grandad was in a good mood when he got back from his pigeons, I might get a special treat. Perhaps a toffee apple, or even better, a stick of rhubarb from the allotment and a bit of sugar to dip it in, usually wrapped up in yesterday’s newspaper.

I rubbed the steam from the kitchen window, taking care not to cut my fingers on the crack in the corner of the pane. The room had a mixture of smells, carbolic soap mingled with the Yorkshire Pudding cooking in the black lead stove. Saturday lunch was always special at Gran’s, lots of mashed potatoes, (Grandad said it was Pom!), carrots and split peas, Yorkshire pudd and thick onion gravy. Sometimes there was even a glass of Tizer, that’s if Grandad had been lucky with his morning trip to the bookies!

After dinner we’d listen to Old Mother Riley on the wireless. Grandad supped his beer after dinner, and Gran washed up in the big stone sink. Better stop day-dreaming though and get on with some more poshing. Another 10 minutes perhaps, then I’ll rinse the sheets in the sink, then fold them up and put them through the mangler. I loved to see the water squirting through from the sheets and falling into the tin bucket underneath.

Suddenly I heard the sound of heavy boots on the cobblestones outside. Then the sneck went down on the old kitchen door, and in walked Grandad. “Na then lass, what’s tha bin up to? “As tha dun’t weshin then”? Then he gently patted my head and handed me a big red tomato. “First one lass, picked it jus for thee”. Trying not to let the disappointment show on my face, I took it from him and kissed his stubbly chin. “Ta Grandad”, I said, but thought to myself, I don’t much like tomatoes, but ah well, perhaps next week I’ll get the rhubarb!

Mrs Yvonne Holloway, Brookside Close, Sheffield 12

I was born and brought up on Bard Street Flats which is between Hyde Park Flats and Park Hill Flats. There used to be a field on Park Hill where the old cinema stood - and where my doctor’s surgery and chemist now stands.

In 1969 when I was 12 years old I was standing watching the Park Hill Youth Club football team training. It had been set up by a new curate at St John’s Church called Jim Neill who ran the Park Hill Church in the community centre.

He invited me to join in but the Park Hill Mob said: ‘He’s not playin wi us. He’s a Bard Street Waller’, and as there was no love lost between Park Hill and Bard Street I walked away.

Jim Neill called me back and persuaded them to let me join in. I had a great game and scored a few goals and at the end I started to walk off home. The Park Hill Boys shouted me back and said: ‘Where thar goin thar playing for us next Sat’day’.

So I became an honorary member of the Park Hill Mob which caused a bit of bother with my mates on Bard Street.

There were some great people on the Park Hill Flats, including Mrs Flude and her family who used to open her flat up to us all on Thursday nights so the youth club could be held there. I went on to become the Sunday school captain and captain of the youth club football team.

I still have contact with Jim Neill who has been a vicar at St Ann with Emmanuel in Nottingham for around the last 30 years and I still see Mrs Flude’s two daughters Janet and Bev and some of the old Park Hill Mob.

I work at Nabarro on the Quays next to the canal so I see Bard Street and Park Hill Flats every day from my office window and I have some great memories to treasure.

Kevan Smith, Fretson Road, Sheffield 2

IT is sad that Fred is no longer with us so that I and many others could gently remind him that Dick Barton was on the radio from 6.45 to 7pm and not after 7.30PM. Also he would no doubt be puzzled to know why the allotment picture to represent Rivelin valley had a railway signal in the background when the nearest railway line is two miles away! Thanks again Fred for all the wonderful memories

Derrick Scholey, Ormond Road, Sheffield 8