The Langley Mill Heritage Group members - past and present - have a fund of anecdotes, here are a few - click on a link to see the story

Enough to send you potty - from a Langley Mill Pottery collector by Wynne Hope

What Langley Mill means to me - by Derek Gaunt

Tommy Horsley's school by Vera Hutchinson

Harwoods Chippy by Vera Hutchinson

Teddy One by Sue Fowler

Betty Kenny's Tree by Brian Gration

Growing Old ...Anon

What my union card means by Jim Trueman

In generous recognition dedicated to all workers everywhere by K.Deighton

The Lamp by Vera Hutchinson

Memories are made of . . . . by Jim Trueman

We are survivors . . Anon

Times have changed by Vera Hutchinson

Tribute to Soldiers by Brian Gration

A Spooky Tale by Vera Hutchinson

 Report of a wedding on Boxing Day 1936 - kindly submitted by Beryl Freestone, Western Australia.

Enough to send you potty by Wynne Hope

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I started to collect pottery made at Langley Mill Pottery: it was marketed as Lovatt's and later as Bourne Derby Ware.
I remember the very old Lovatt's Pottery, an archaic building -with little windows, its walls coning right up to the pavement on Pottery Lane. It was a far cry from the new building which replaced it, the old one ravaged by fire many years ago.

The date of the fire escapes me, but I recall it clearly - a cold winter night, and I still see those firemen fighting to spray water from their hose pipes, the water freezing, forming long icicles in the severe temperatures. Sadly, I believe several horses were lost in the burning stables.
The pottery waste - damaged beyond repair - they transported by horse and cart to a refuse tip on Cromford Road. People, especially- children often followed the cart and salvaged many a mug or cup, sometimes a teapot, even the odd vase. We got some good stuff at times, and it helped when money was short.

Sometimes they would hold pottery sales, selling `seconds' - pots that didn't quite pass muster as they came off the production lines. Nevertheless, you could get bargains, some of the articles having few faults.

They made, amongst various things, cemetery pots. My mother had a beautiful green vase, for which she paid nine old pennies, for my sister's grave at Marlpool. It had a good glaze and lasted many years without crazing.

I acquired my first decent piece from a dear old friend at Aldercar. At the time, I was caretaker at the old Aldercar Infants' School on Cromford Road whose school house and adjoining school buildings were badly hit by mining subsidence. Unfortunately, the houses became very wet and unfit to live in. A lady named Mrs Neal kindly- offered to give a home to myself, husband, son and daughter but we had to decline the offer due to my looking after the school and stoking the boiler which used to get damaged.

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Mrs Neal asked me to visit her home, not far away at Aldercar. She gave me a lovely, dark blue jardiniere (I believe it was made at Lovatt's Pottery) for a keep-sake. My daughter succeeded in begging it from me to hold a big plant and still uses it.

I have since acquired a few more pieces, some again from old friends. I do have another jardiniere, again made at Lovatts. This I placed in the first exhibition at the Bridge Centre in March this year where an expert informed me that, being over 100 years old, it is valuable.

Over the years I have amassed quite a collection, each one with a story attached:

Two ash trays, one blue, one green, were given me by a lady who worked a lifetime at the pottery. Being warden at the Neal Court Complex, I cared for her and this was her way of thanking me.

I also own a teapot bought for 20p at our market stall in aid of arthritis care; a mustard pot from a chapel stall, bought for 5p and a green Coronation Mug in honour of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth dated May 12th 1937. The mug was discovered amongst many used in a pot smashing contest at Aldercar School .mcl my son, then a boy, salvaged it - for his mum!

I have a soup bowl and an ink bottle used in schools years ago, plus another yellow mug dug up in a friend's garden. Three more decorative mugs were left to me when a dear friend died. And my pie dish (Bourne) was given me by another friend. All these pots were made at Langley Mill.

Over the years my collection has depleted. Before I moved to my smaller bungalow I obviously owned much more -some really pretty vases and pottery flower baskets but I realised I hadn't sufficient room to accommodate them all so regrettably had to part with then.

My souvenirs from Lovatt's Pottery represent a host of memories, but I think my favourite item, even though its lid got damaged in transit, is a red Lovatts teapot given by a clear friend to my daughter. Its a beautiful old piece and I love it very much.

So you see, it isn't hard to go a little potty over pottery!

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WHAT LANGLEY MILL MEANS TO ME by Derek Gaunt

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I was born and bred in Langley Mill and Aldercar - and proud of it!

It now seems that this area has lost much of its identity with shops closing down and unemployment, but I would like to stress that Langley Mill had its own status in the Industrial Midlands. There used to be G.R. Turner's rolling - stock and a local pottery (Lovatts, Denby and Bourne) for ovenware, plates, cups and mugs. Aristoc used to make stockings and other items both during and following the war years.

Neither must we forget the mines which provided work for hundreds of people. Also the canal, its barges used to carry coal to its destination. Later, when the canal ceased as a trading link in the transportation of fuel and freight, such goods were carried by rail from the local station: this again proves what an industrial place Langley Mill was.

The railway linking the area provided trains to take you anywhere you wanted to go until the Beeching cuts in the 60s closed down many railways up and clown the country. Langley Mill station did reopen in later years and still exists today.

It's apparent Langley Mill did not always used to be a ghost town, as it seems to be today! I feel it has lost its way a little but subscribe to the phrase "Where there's life there is hope". I shall always hold warm affection for Langley Mill and its industrial heritage.

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TOMMY HORSLEY'S SCHOOL by Vera Hutchinson

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The older generation of Langley Mill often refer to the Boys' School - once on the site of Chris Road's Car Sales - as `Tommy Horsley's School'.
In 1953 the following tribute to Mr Horsley was paid to him by Mr Stanley Hunt, Headmaster and is virtually as written at the time.

Late in January of this year a long and noteworthy chapter in the history of our school came to an end. Mr Thomas Horsley died at the age of 78.
Mr Horsley came to Langley Mill towards the end of the nineteenth century in 1895 as an assistant teacher; two years later he became Headmaster. And so he remained for the next 42 years. Indeed in close on a hundred years of the school's existence Mr Horsley took charge for more than half of its history. In over 44 years he veritably made his own original mark.
Some years after he retired in 1939 he said that no matter what else he gave up in his public duties he would never relinquish his association with the school.
One of his proudest, most repeated boasts was that so many of his old scholars had done well in the world; and in many cases had achieved fame in spheres such as politics, art and sport.
All of Langley Mill and the surrounding district will remember Mr Horsley for his indefatigable efforts for those who took their troubles to him. I think that if he would like to be remembered in any particular way it would be for this - that he gave his services and experience for the benefit of the people of Langley Mill. He knew everybody; he gave advice and assistance to anyone in need; he was the friend and counsellor of all.
His numerous public duties and offices I would not attempt to mention in detail. He was prominent in education, in sport, in local government, in charities.
He knew what he wanted, he liked to get it, and he usually did. And when he did it was for the mutual benefit of everybody.
Mr Horsley lived at `Number Ten' and there could have been no more fitting address that that for Langley Mill's first citizen.

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HARWOOD'S CHIPPY by Vera Hutchinson

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Harwood Hutchinson, a cripple from birth, was a well known character in Langley Mill. He lived on Bank Street with his parents, a house where one of the front rooms had been converted into a Fish and Chip shop. Harwood was a cousin of rny late husband Wilf, and told me that Wilf had set up the business in order to give Harwood a purpose in life due to his severe disablement.

We came to Argyle Street in 1938 by which time Harwood's parents had died. His sister Edith and her husband Arthur Burrows were living with Harwood to manage the business and take care of him. Unable to do the frying or serve at the counter, Harwood's job was to peel potatoes and cut thern into chips. He did this by placing the peeled potato on the base of a contraption containing square cutters, pulled down the handle affixed which would effectively force the potato through, and voila, there were the chips tumbling into a bucket placed underneath. Harwood, small in height and a friendly little chap with a ready srnile would sit to one side behind the counter to do the job; this would allow him to chat to customers as they waited in the queue. Fish and chips would be wrapped first in greaseproof paper then in newspaper, no polystyrene trays back then. Some, like me, would take a basin instead. If you wanted Edie's steak and kidney pies you took a jug for the gravy. Delicious!
Although the place had no dining room available to eat inside, they made Friday lunchtime an exception - but only to Aristoc girls. Edie would let them use her private dining room. Their meals had to be ready on Edie's table prompt by 12.10 p.m. as the girls had to clock in again before 1.00 p.m. Unfortunately this rneant other customers had a while longer to wait while ,Aristoc girls were served. I got wise to this and went well before noon to avoid the rush. Wilf too, worked at Aristoc so needed to get back pretty quickly.

To get back to Harwood, its fair to say his disability never kept him in. He didn't own a wheelchair and would use two sticks to assist in his walking down to the shops. Once there, even on the way, most people would stop and have a friendly chat with him.
He was also able to use the C9 bus which ran from Hucknall to Alfreton via Aldercar. Harwood would get on at Cromford Road but always needed help to reach the high step, he was no light weight either! Often the bus driver helped if there was no one else at the stop.
A lover of dominoes, Harwood would catch the C9 to Heanor to see Aunt Martha, my mother in law. He'd say to me, "Aunt Martha always gives me a good game." "She should do, Harwood," I'd reply, "she's a champion player for Heanor Labour Club in the Women's League."

Great at collecting for charities on Flag Days, especially for the Red Cross, he would command a prime pitch outside Limb's newsagent on Cromford Road (now Tony's 'Shop 4 W). Mr Limb would bring out a chair for Harwood where he would start rattling his tin. It always seerned he needed two or three tins. For a few years I would collect for the Red Cross but only on Argyle Street all amounts collected were published in the News. This gave Harwood much pleasure when he saw how much we'd collected and rnade me feel inadequate. Years later the farnily made the decision to shut up shop and retire. From then on, Harwood would be a regular passenger on the C9 to Alfreton where he attended the Nelson Club for the Disabled. I'm sure he'd be seen enjoying his game of dominoes.

I believe everyone who lived this end of Langley Mill and Aldercar at the time will remember Harwood with affection...

... a small guy with a big heart.

TEDDY ONE

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I was never inventive as a child...
This 'person' appeared in my life when I was six months old. I called him 'Teddy One'.
Cruelly treated he took the place of a baby brother, Teddy one was hung by a rope from the stairs.
Teddy Two took his place but at three years old I found the box more interesting.
Teddy Two took over in the cruelty stakes and still bears scars.
Teddy One is bow fifty plus years old and has secured a place in my affections, not forgetting Teddy Two. No longer neglected they each have their own chair, their pride of place, and get talked to every night.
I will not part with Teddy One despite his sorry sight with stuffing oozing out and frayed arms and legs. He still has two eyes and looks at me with sad eyes, but I really do love Teddy One and ask him to forgive my neglect.
Sue Fowler

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Betty Kenny's Tree

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From an old sepia printed postcard I was led to investigate Betty Kenny's Tree, Shining Cliff Woods. The card had never been posted, and more fascinating where was this tree located?
Intrigued, I made some enquiries, the local paper running an article to hopefully prompt people with information. I had one reply, partly true, but time-wise, a hundred years out!
At least my brother-in-law told me "Shining Cliff Woods are off the A6 Matlock Road." They could be reached down a track between Ambergate and Whatstandwell.
My informant also told me The National Trust owned the land. I contacted them to inquire if they had information on the tree. Yes, but they had promised a Mr Chee not to release any information regarding it during his lifetime. Thankfully they did give me his phone number. I then contacted him at his residence in Preston, Lancashire. Of course 'Murphy's Law' dictated he was in the bath at the time of contact and was not well pleased. "Do you realise," he said, "that I am dripping water all over my floor talking to you?"
Apologising I told him of my interest in the tree and explained about the post card. He agreed to meet me and my wife at Alderwasley, a hamlet buried in the hillside and close to Shining Cliff woods. We met on a convenient November Sunday. Mr Chee, formerly a resident of Crich a few miles distant, our guide to the tree.
After an endless trek on this cold Sunday morning, and feeling like an explorer into the unknown, I wished I'd worn proper walking shoes. Oh well, let's get on with it!
In truth I didn't know what to expect and pictured a natural giant whose spreading branches took up most of the area. It isn't often you get to see a named tree so I'd sort of hyped myself up for something really special. It was a dwarf this yew, yet did have a certain attraction - much like some primordial beast intent on escaping the leaf mould and soil, a once proud bulk now a solid, angled lump retaining some leaf growth. It held a kind of magic and dwarfed a few lesser trees surrounding it. After thanking Mr Chee, I promised him I would not make public either its location, or information regarding it.
I did revisit with a friend to take photographs. Not easy it being so enclosed. After two hours battling with foliage, and the use of two balls of string to tie back other trees and undergrowth in order to see the subject properly, camera on a tripod and suitably positioned, it required twelve bursts of flash to get what I hoped would be a reasonable picture given light and shade played its part. It proved frustrating to say the least. I subsequently sent copies to Mr Chee and the National Trust.

So what had made this tree famous enough for someone to deem it worthy of a postcard? Let's go on a tale stranger than fiction!

Circa 1795 a nomadic charcoal burner moved from Nottinghamshire to Ambergate, Derbyshire. We know of Luke Kenyon (Kenny being a local pronunciation) and his wife Betty's wanderings from accounts of a farmer who transported Luke and belongings from place to place.
They settled and lived in and under this female yew tree, believed to be around 900 years old which suggests it seeded in the 11th century around the time of William the Conqueror. Measurements taken when in its prime record a girth of 31.5 feet, its largest stem being 21.75 feet at its lowest point and 10.75 feet at roughly seven feet from the ground. One can only imagine its beauty covered in masses of coral red berries surrounded by a blaze of rhododendrons.
In the late 1800s it was damaged by fire caused by picnickers who, in order to see smoke disappear up through the oak's hollow branches and reappear higher up, treated it like some massive chimney.
In 1895, a member of the established Hurt family, on holiday from his post as maths teacher in Vienna commented: "The tree has been set on fire by roguish boys." A gentlemanly condemnation compared to what we might say today. Thankfully the tree has survived other such mindless acts.
The Hurt name prompts us to ask why Luke and Betty Kenny were favoured by this family and allowed to set up home close to the Hurts' back garden. Even with this dispensation life for the Kenny's wasn't a bed of roses. Water had to be bailed out of their shelter - cone shaped and made from timber; covered with turf with more timber used as a makeshift door to prevent invasion of heavy rain. In winter they used fire for cooking and heating. The smoke inside must have been choking.
Despite all Betty and Luke raised eight children, one dying in infancy and buried close by the tree. A newspaper report dated July 22nd 1905 states that Kenny grandchildren still live in the Whatstandwell area. Back then the children were believed to have worked as 'boat people' on the Cromford canal.

The artist James Ward of the Royal Academy was commissioned by Mr Hurt to paint Luke Kenny who, at the grand age of 96, was pleased to sit for a while after all the hard work he'd known over years. Betty commented that "He was wellie done." The artist took this as a compliment; in reality Betty meant Luke was looking old and haggard.
Mr Hurt of Casterne Hall, his Staffordshire home, recalls seeing this picture hanging in Alderwasley Hall as a boy. With no idea of its location he kindly lent me a black and white postcard of which I have a copy.
Luke and Betty are depicted on the painting. After sitting for the artist they complained about the cold draughts in the Hall. A short time later they were brutally attacked, life savings of £10.00 - yes ten pounds! - were stolen. Luke took the brunt of the assault and later died from his injuries; Kate recovered. It is recorded that she danced at a ball at Alderwasley Hall when she was well over a hundred.
For personal reasons, apart from the odd visit, Kate would not venture into the Hall other than to purchase necessities. It's said she hated being indoors, whatever the weather.
Admiration abounds for this hardy couple. Kate lived to a great age when the life expectancy of a woman averaged out at 45. Today, citing modern heating and clothing, I dread to think how modern man would have coped in a tree!
In 1992 I saw the tree again. Sadly there was little left. In 2001, Derbyshire County Council issued a pamphlet giving directions to its remains. They kindly used one of my photographs which prompted me to write this account.
As for the Hurt family, it is believed they got the name when an ancestor out hunting with a royal prince shot a deer. Thinking he had killed it, someone pointed out to him: "It is but hurt, my lord."
Unfortunately, the Hurt estates went into decline in the period up to the outbreak of World War II, remaining family members dispersed around the world.
Perhaps they, like Betty Kenny's Tree, threw out their limbs and ventured forth.
The tree's roots are fixed in Shining Cliff Woods. Not as robust now it is still a fitting memorial to the Kenny family who give credence to longevity by embracing fresh air.

Brian Gration

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GROWING OLD

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Remember that we old folk are worth a fortune with silver in our hair, gold in our teeth, stones in our kidneys, lead in our feet and gas in our stomachs.
While I've become a little older since I saw you last, I have become quite a frivolous old gal, having two gentlemen with me all the time.Will Power helps me get out of bed and Arthur Ritus never leaves me alone.
The Minister called the other day. He said that at my age I should be thinking of the hereafter. I told him I do it all the time, no matter where I am - living room, study, kitchen or upstairs. I ask myself: "What am I here after?"
(Aimed at all those who think they know what it's all about and have forgotten about it.)

Anon

What my union card means

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A Union Card has stood me in good stead for over forty years.
It means I have the backing of thousands and don't have to stand alone.
It is a token of membership of many people from different backgrounds and races, brought together as a body to fight for rights ordinarily denied us if we stand alone.
It reminds us of pain and suffering our forefathers endured in the early days in order to get unions recognised and established in the face of management opposition and, back then, the government.
Today's people forget that members were persecuted, sometimes deported, even killed, for being union members. If our unions were to disappear the days of the 'bosses' being allowed to dismiss a worker on a whim would reappear.
My union card means more than mere plastic: it reminds me of my first days of employment at the Royal Ordnance Factory and meeting my first union representative, a certain 'Porky' Squires, who explained the importance of the famous saying: "All for one and one for all".
Dumas created the Musketeers; I believe that united we stand; divided we . . . You know the rest, right?

Jim Trueman

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In Generous recognition- Dedicated to all workers, everywhere

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The following - quoted in full - was passed to The Heritage Group some time ago: we decided it deserved its rightful place in the annals. Unfortunately the author is not known to us but we remain indebted to them for shedding light on 'the way we were'.

Recently I was sorting through some old papers which I had kept and came across a copy of some 'Office Rules' which surfaced originally in 1974 when an old building was demolished in Lichfield. The paper was headed OFFICE STAFF PRACTICES and dated 1852. It makes for interesting reading and the rules were as follows:
1. Godliness, cleanliness and punctuality are the necessities of a good business.
2. This firm has reduced the hours of work and the clerical staff will now have to be present only between the hours of 7.00 a.m. and 6.00 p.m on weekdays.

3. Daily prayers will be held each morning in the main office. The clerical staff will
be present.

4. Clothing must be of a sober nature. The clerical staff will not disport themselves in raiment of bright colours, nor will they wear hose unless in good repair.

5. Overshoes and top coats will not be worn in the office but neck scarves and head wear may be worn in inclement weather.

6. A stove is provided for the benefit of clerical staff. Coal and wood must be kept in the locker. It is recommended that each member of the clerical staff bring four pounds of coal each day during cold weather.

7. No member of the clerical staff may leave the room without permission from Mr Rogers. The calls of nature are permitted and clerical staff may use the garden below the second gate. The area must be kept in good order.

8. No talking is allowed during office hours.

9. The craving of tobacco, wines and spirits is a human weakness and, as such, is forbidden to all members of the clerical staff.

10. Now that the hours of business have been drastically reduced, the partaking of food is allowed between 11.30 a.m. and noon, but work will not on any account cease.

11. Members of the clerical staff will provide their own pens. A new sharpener is available on application to Mr Rogers.

12. Mr Rogers will nominate a senior clerk to be responsible for the cleanliness of the main office and the private office, and all boys and juniors will report to him 40 minutes before prayers and will remain after closing for similar work. Brushes, brooms, scrubbers and soap are provided by the owners.

13. The new increased weekly wages are as hereunder detailed:

The owners recognise the generosity of the new labour laws, but expect a great rise in the output of work to compensate for these near Utopian conditions.

K. Deighton, Wolverhampton

(The above is taken from the pages of the 'Wolverhampton Press and Star, and sent to the writer by Geoff Tanner ACII ARPS)

There followed this, signed 'Editor'. Quite who this person is remains hidden in the mists of time, unless of course it is a former editor of the newspaper. He states:

When I embarked on a career in the Life Assurance Industry, many things had not changed very much, apart from the disappearance of morning prayers and the more modern toilet and heating arrangements added. The junior clerk in Mr Rogers' office was not all that badly off. In 1935, Charles Dickens and Scrooge were alive and well in Banking and Insurance. Allowing for inflation over 83 years the junior clerk's wages of 8/7d per week compared favourably with my starting salary of £45 per annum, approximately 17/8d per week! And the old high desks and stools (designed to discourage anyone from nodding off in the afternoon from sheer boredom) were relics of the Victorian era and had, I'm sure, been there since the office had been built 50 years previously.


If anyone is contemplating applying for any of the above jobs, please do re-read the working conditions. Our advice: Don't!

But one supposes that the 2008 days of working to make ends meet anything is acceptable!!!

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The Lamp

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It's my dad's miner's lamp. Very sentimental to me, it hangs on my chimney breast.
I often think how Dad worked hard at the coal face carrying this very lamp to light up the dark mine.
I'm reminded of the 1926 strike when, at the age of seven, I was taken by my teenage sister and her friend to pick coal off the colliery tip, and take it home to keep our fire burning. They picked about half a bucket each when the watchman appeared! The two of them dragged me along on my toes, both fearful yet hanging on to their precious buckets all the way home.
The lamp hasn't always been treasured as it is now.
Dad gave me the lamp in 1939. At that time our toilet was outside; in frosty weather the pipes would freeze up. The lamp proved a bonus: filled with paraffin, wick trimmed and lit, Dad would place it under the cistern - no more frozen pipes!
It helped in other ways too. Dark nights 'going down the yard' proved daunting, the lamp chased the shadows away and sort of made it more 'comfortable'.
Dad's lamp: of darkness and light, a flickering flame which to me at least, affords fond, unforgettable memories.

Vera Hutchinson

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Memories are made of ........

. . .
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We all carry memories, things we remember, some with fondness, others we wish we'd rejected: School; in the Home; on Transport; in Leisure time and Shopping. Whatever they are, or were, they reminders of our lives.

SCHOOL:
Ink wells; pen nibs; squeaking chalk; flung chalk or board rubber thrown by an irate master; one third of a pint of milk (plus straw), frozen in winter; assembly in playground, in the gym or hall; blotting paper; the 'Nit' nurse!; blackboard and easel; before television.

HOME:
Black lead fireplaces; brick-built copper in the kitchen to heat water; clothes ponch and zinc tub for washing; a huge mangle for squeezing water from clothes; stone sink with running cold water; tin bath on the hearth; a hot brick or oven shelf instead of a hot water bottle to heat the bed in winter; sash cord windows; coal fires - taking out the ashes; coal tipped, getting stored using wheelbarrow and shovel - stacking the big lumps at the front so that the smaller cobbles wouldn't spill into the yard; banking the fire at night with slack (fine coal dust and very small lumps); gas lights and mantles, the gentle hissing of gas when the light was lit; Lino floor covering, its coldness when it struck your feet, maybe the soothing effect offered if you suffered cramp; pegged rugs on the floor made from hundreds of material off-cuts threaded through Hessian; the stippling of walls instead of using wallpaper; times when people really talked to each other before TV came and ruined the art of conversation; times when you knew everybody in the neighbourhood, and people helped one another, gave 'em a dig; scraping ice off the inside of windows; oil cloth on tables, tasselled cloths in the parlour; quarry-tiled floors; outside toilets with newspaper for 'comfort'.

TRANSPORT:
Trams preceding trolley buses (probably the most environmentally friendly transport since horses); being able to cross the road safely; a good railway system before Beeching; the sight and sound of an express with a full head of steam, smoke billowing behind; of black faces when we used to go train-spotting; days of the ocean-going Liner and when Britain had a fishing fleet; when a working man's transport was a bicycle or 'Shank's Pony; with flying mainly for the birds and horses weren't a rarity - ploughing fields; steam rollers at work on roads, the pungent smell of tarmac.

LEISURE:
Times when every town had its own cinema(s), being able to see your heroes and heroines on the silver screen; the week's highlight - the 'threepenny rush' at the cinema on a Saturday afternoon;78 r.p.m. records played on a wind-up gramophone using a hawthorn instead of a needle, a duster stuffed in the speaker to lessen the noise! The whole family playing games in the evening, especially on dark nights; walks across the fields, calling in at the pub on the way home for a pint with 'pop' and crisps for the kids; enjoying a football match without seeing the players' roll around in agony at the slightest touch, or kissing each other when they scored; of feeling safe whenever you joined opposition supporters in order to enjoy the match; recalling how you would be branded as being 'no good' if seen visiting a Snooker Hall (How different today with the game earning vast amounts for players); England being one of the best cricket sides in the world; libraries: busy places as the main source of reading entertainment for pleasure and education; an abundance of chip shops, your order wrapped in newspaper - it tasted great; wonderful times when children could play safely in the street, chalked wickets on a wall, breaking the neighbour's window with a hastily kicked football; times when parents need worry if they couldn't 'see' their kids; other games - 'Stick' and 'Peggy', 'Tigger' (or 'Tag'), 'Rally-o', 'Rum-stick-a-bum', Snobs, Skipping and marbles. Carefree wasn't in it: just call them great days!

SHOPPING:
When the corner shop was king and the only 'supermarket' was the Co-op, your order taken, measured and wrapped while you waited, sometimes delivered by a guy on a sit up and beg bike with a carrier on the front and as time progressed, by van. Sugar came in blue bags and crisps had a bag of salt tucked inside. The almost silent 'whoosh' of air pressure as tubes sucked up the containers containing your money and sent back the change! Marble counters with cheese blocks and wire; wooden counters scrupulously clean; shelves stacked with 'goodies', that old shopkeeper had prepared; if they hadn't got it they'd make sure they did.

Good times some say: others might argue. At best we enjoyed them because we didn't know any different. You tell me, is it so different now? Many still struggle; somehow their smiles are less dazzling.

Jim Trueman

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WE ARE SURVIVORS! For people born before September, 1939 - or thereabouts

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WE SURVIVED THE WAR. We also survived those sponge cakes made with dried egg and liquid paraffin and some other unmentionable recipes which are best forgotten.

HOW TO CONSIDER THE CHANGES WE'VE WITNESSED. We were born before television, frozen foods, plastic goods, nylon tights and drip-dry clothes. Before ballpoint pens, our writing deteriorating rapidly when fountain pens dried up! We arrived before penicillin - not for us sophisticated antibiotics. Goose-grease and warm flannel slapped on the chest cured many a nasty cough. We were born before credit cards, radar, split atoms and laser beams. And way before man walked on the moon.

IN OUR DAY the sound of music was the sound of music. Rock music was a Grandma's lullaby and 'pop' was fizzy lemonade, or Dandelion and Burdock. Children were called 'children' and not the offspring of nanny goats. The word 'teenager' hadn't been invented.

WE ARRIVED IN THE WORLD when Woolworth's didn't sell anything over 6d (six old pennies or 2.4p) Anything 'Made in Japan' was cheap and nasty and 'British was Best' - apart from the perfume when the ladies tried to choose between Californian Poppy and Evening in Paris. Boyfriends even survived that! We waved goodbye to threepenny bits, bobs, tanners and half-crowns and floundered amongst those silly Ps when introduced in 1971. When we hit the scene, so to speak, we thought 'fast food' was what you ate during Lent, and we'd never heard of yoghurt, instant coffee, pizzas or Macdonald's - Old Macdonald hadn't left his farm then.

WE HAD NEVER HEARD OF single parents, day-care centres, group therapy or home helps. We came before electric typewriters, artificial hearts, microwave ovens, pacemakers and computers. A pacemaker was something an athlete wore on his foot! A chip meant something in newspaper with a fish, hardware something from the 'hardware shop' and software wasn't even a word, unless you counted the 'frillies' - they did mean something! Gay meant happy; brilliant meant very bright and tremendous meant very big. Jeans were something belonging to Jean, and a vest was a vest, not a T-shirt. Men usually wore trilbies and suits, and the only one with a ring stuck in his ear was a gypsy.
In our day we actually got married first and then lived together so it's easy to get confused when people talk about a 'generation gap'.

But we've managed to keep pace with all: WE'VE SURVIVED.

Anon...first printed in the Welsh Churchman

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TIMES HAVE CHANGED

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My earliest memories of going to the local cinema date back to the 1920s when Mum would take me to the first house at Heanor Empire - silent movies of course!
Besides the main film they always showed a serial - a ploy really because once hooked, you were bound to go back the following week as the serial always ended with a 'cliff-hanger' such as the heroine being strapped to the railway lines, the train chuffing ever nearer!
During the interval, advertising slides for local businesses were shown on screen.
'Talkies' arrived and we had to travel to the cities to watch these. I was taken on a tram to Nottingham by my parents to see this wonderful invention. The film stars actually spoke! The film was The Jazz Singer, or The Singing Fool, not quite sure although I recall Al Olson singing 'Sonny Boy'. I had tears running down my cheeks.
When the original Ben Hurl was shown at the Cosy Cinema (now the Cosy Market) in Heanor, they put on special matinees for schoolchildren on weekdays. Along with the class from Loscoe Denby Lane Girls' School, a teacher as chaperone, I enjoyed the epic. Better than lessons!
Saturday afternoon children's matinees at the Empire - tuppence downstairs, threepence upstairs. Upstairs we'd sit on the front row of the balcony and chuck rolled-up sweet wrappers on our pals seated below - assuming we had the extra penny to get up there.
In the 30s, I met my future husband. His cousin was a Mr. John Plumb, the projectionist at The Cosy. A handy fellow to know, eh? On Saturday nights we'd visit the Projection Room, say hello to John, and be offered a 'bird's eye view' of the film. It proved interesting to watch him changed the reels over, and rewind the ones removed ready for the next showing. That accomplished we would go downstairs, sneak into the back seats and watch the film in comfort. A real treat, money being tight then. Cousin John later became manager of The Cosy before moving to manage Heanor Empire until it closed.
We had The Ritz at Langley Mill too, (now Slater's Glass), and a change it being in a different village. The cinema ran what came to be known as 'continuous performances' instead of two separate houses. Saturday evenings were busy. Having queued outside, once inside we often had to stand in the outer aisle to watch the film until others who had seen the film round vacated their seats.
During the war years Glen Miller's Moonlight Serenade would be played while the usherette sold her ice cream. One of my favourite tunes, whenever I hear it my mind goes back to the happy evenings spent at The Ritz. By this time I was married and lived in Langley Mill, The Ritz our local.

The Nottingham Ritz proved popular, particularly if they were showing a film we dearly wanted to see. Instead of taped music during the interval, we listened to 'live' music from a Hammond organ which emerged from the floor to stage level, the organist resplendent in white suit. And as good as Reginald Dixon who played at The Tower Ballroom in Blackpool for years.
The advent of television in the early 50s saw a decline in local cinemas, some converted to Bingo halls - another new craze that's still popular - others pulled down to make way for supermarkets and the like.
In the late 50s, and early 60s, epic films made a comeback; biblical films such as The Ten Commandments and The Robe, and a remake of Ben Hur. That one did take me back!
Spectacular musicals too, whose catchy sing-along tunes were a hit with everyone, young and old. South Pacific, The King and I, and of course The Sound of Music. This one had a long run in Nottingham with fans going to see it numerous few times. Television repeats in abundance if we want to relive the memories. Sometimes we're heard to say: "Oh no, not again!"
Old cinemas, grand times, have made way for the multi-complex cinemas, many born over the past ten, fifteen years. Multi means 'many choices' and that's what you get as soon as they are released, with up to ten screens showing all the latest films. It's great especially when you had to wait months before the latest films were shown at the local.
I seldom visit the cinema now, but it's an experience when I do. The sound effects are superb, pictures so clear, less grainy, and more realistic.
I watched Titanic; and before that Braveheart - blockbusters.
We've come a long way from Charlie Chaplin to Mel Gibson!
And I can still watch 'em on video, or maybe DVD, if I so choose.

Vera Hutchinson

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TRIBUTE TO SOLDIERS

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Victoria's Diamond Jubilee; the British Empire immersed in power and prestige. In 1899, Alfred Milner, High Commissioner of Cape Colony, South Africa, seeks more. Money talks and Milner hopes to gain the economic power the African gold mines offer.
Such deposits are situated in the Dutch Boer republics of the Transvaal and Orange Free State, Milner desperate to create a confederation of British colonies to exploit the African continent. To do this he precipitates a war with the Boers - a so-called, predictable 'all be over by Christmas' skirmish.
'The key to a good defence is a good offence' is the Boer's maxim. A prophetic statement: Disasters mounted, military careers ended, and 22,000 'Tommy Atkins' lay dead.
Ladysmith, Mafeking, Kimberley proved significant. The Boers forced the British to abandon early offensives in order to lift these sieges; subsequent battles served to highlight British army problems. Surmounting them the British achieve superiority over the Boers.
Job done? The Boers long and proud traditions said NO. Their 'commando units' incited a cruel, devastating struggle which again the mighty British did overcome.
'The cruel war was over - oh the triumph was so sweet!
We watched the troops returning through our tears;
There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet glistening street,
And you scarce could hear the music for the cheers.
And you scarce could see the house-tops for the flags that flew between;
The bells were peeling madly to the sky;
And everyone was shouting for the Soldiers of the Queen,
And the glory of an age was passing by.

There were two wars fought between the Boers and the British: the first 1881, the second between 1899 and 1902.
As to men who fought bravely and died for their country who would accept that some of these 'Tommy Atkins' came from a village on the Derbyshire-Nottinghamshire border?
A memorial to commemorate them was erected by public subscription in memory of Langley Mill soldiers who fell in The South African War [Boer War] 1899-1902. It also commemorates the declaration of peace, June 1st 1902.

The memorial, first erected on land owned by the Midland Railway and opposite its present position, was moved on September 15th 1979. This 'gift day' commemorated the relocation because the original land was deemed unsuitable for the memorial due to weather conditions and its position on the steep slope.

There are four names on the memorial:
Corporal Tansill GT. The 2nd Battalion Gloucester Regiment.
Regimental Number 2664.
War medal and two clasps Relief of Kimberley and Paardberg.
Killed in action Paardberg 19th February 1900

[Corporal Tansill's name can be seen on the war memorial in Bloemfontein Town Cemetery - Photograph appears in an article bearing name]

Lance Corporal Hull JT The 2nd Derbyshire Regiment No 4 Company 28th Battalion
Mounted Infantry
Regimental Number 6558
War medal and four clasps Cape Colony, Orange Free State, Transvaal and
South Africa 1902.
Killed at Klip River 12th February 1902.

Private Lane HJ. The First Battalion The Princess of Wales's Own (Yorkshire Regiment)
Regimental Number 2999
War medal and three clasps relief of Kimberley, Paardberg and Drietontein
Died of disease 29th May 1900

[We must remember that in 1900 there were no antibiotics or other medicines such
as we have today. Private Lane may have contracted Malaria, Yellow Fever, Dysentery, or any disease rife at the time]

Private Hull W. The 1st Battalion Derbyshire Regiment (Mounted Infantry)
Regimental Number 5413
War medal and two clasps Cape Colony and Orange Free State
Drowned Orange River 1st March 1901

Killed in action; at Klip River; disease and drowning. Four of our locals dead. Here is the report of how Private Hull W, died:

Major Godley was left in command of a detachment at Commissie Drift: it proved difficult to hold, parties of Boers on the Free State side of the river able to fire into the camp. In order to put a stop to it a party under Sergeant-Major Erwin, was despatched to Ventner's Drift, a place reported fordable. To prove this, a man of the H.L.I. walked across, and a Kaffir boy on a horse was sent over to test the strength of the stream, and left stationary as a point for the men to march upon.
Sergeant-Major Erwin then formed up the men; the scouts were started off at three
horses distance, Corporal Bradshaw leading, him being a powerful swimmer. All went well for three-fourths of the journey. It was noticed by those on the bank that the men were going too far to the left. Several called out 'Go more to the right!' No notice was taken so a man was sent into the water, and almost reaching the rear horse, repeated the caution, also disregarded, the Corporal going more to the left. At once his horse began to swim; the others closed up and followed suit. Corporal Bradshaw with Privates Murphy, Hull, Costal and threw themselves into the surging river to be washed away and never seen again apart from Private Hull, his body recovered twenty miles down river. The H.L.I. dived for hours at the place their comrades were last seen. All horses swam to the bank and were recovered.

Moves have been attempted to trace family connections of the four whose names grace the memorial. The only Tansill found on the 1891 Census that may correspond in approximate age was born in Gloucester, a tie-in with the regiment he joined.
Private Lane, at the time of writing, does not come up on the same Census.
Strangely both men are listed on a memorial in Derby Railway Station as 'Midland Railway Army Reservists'. Perhaps they may have moved to live in Midland Railway houses at Langley Mill after the 1891 Census.
It is believed the two soldiers sharing the name Hull - JT and W - were brothers whose family lived in Bridge Street, Langley Mill, in 1891. In the 1881 Census, the family lived at the Sir Charles Napier public house on Cromford Road. An 1881 catalogue lists another family as landlords, so it may be that the Hulls' probably lodged there. William was only 3 years old at this time and had been born at Chalton. J.T. was born later. Their father, Edward, born in Nottingham in 1853, hailed from Willoughby-on-the-Wolds; their mother, Elizabeth, born at Crowfield, Derbyshire in 1859. Crowfield is a hamlet of about six houses between Aldercar and Stoneyford.

Out of war's senseless tragedy emerge acts of bravery and foolhardiness. Sadness clings to the memorial as we remember the four who gave their lives fighting for that in which they presumably believed.
We like to think that they lie beneath an African sun, whose dying light ensures we remember them.
_________________

Brian Gration

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A SPOOKY TALE

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I suppose I was one of those people who when younger didn't believe in ghosts, nor had I given it much thought until the 1939-45 war disrupted us all.
I joined the Women's Land Army and joined a band of girls in Lincolnshire at a large, grand old house taken over by the Agricultural War Department to replace young men - all farm workers - called up to serve in His Majesty's Forces.
The house comprised thirteen bedrooms (unsettling if you were superstitious) on different landings, each with their own bathroom. I can't recall how many girls we were only that my room with its large bay windows housed four beds and was situated at the top of the house.
Eventually I settled in with three nice enough girls, one of whom would travel home with me whenever leave was granted. Lynda lived at Hill Top, a couple of miles from Langley Mill, so it helped for us to travel together for the company.

My bed was the only one left unoccupied and the first inside as you came in. One night, hungry and tired - when weren't we? - after working hard on the threshing machines, plus potato picking and digging greenhouse beds and water cress beds (all hand dug - no machines then), we felt like pit colliers. Oh and rat catching! The little devils were everywhere; we were soon scurrying upstairs to commandeer a bathroom before scooting to the kitchen adjacent to the dining room for dinner.
For the first eight or so nights I slept like a top until one Monday night I was awakened in the early hours by someone shaking my shoulder. Startled awake I became aware of a form floating over my bed, across the room and through the bay window. Perturbed, I awakened my friends and told them of the incident. We huddled together, each smoking a cigarette, yours truly to calm my nerves as I listened to them relate the story.
Evidently Room Thirteen had remained closed for a long time because the house had a resident ghost. Due to shortage of accommodation the powers that be decided to open up the room. Would you believe that no one would sleep in that bed until poor old Wyn arrived? Naturally no one breathed a word.
It's said that the lovely old place had been occupied by three elderly spinsters who would play cards into the early hours in that room. A disagreement caused one of the sisters to run through the doorway and throw herself through the bay window, killed instantly on the lawn far below, the incident re-enacted on the first Monday of the month.
Not being of a nervous disposition generally, I soon got used to it. Although I witnessed this on occasion, I suppose I was too tired after my stint on the land and fell asleep. I think the bike ride home from work did the trick.
Thank goodness she didn't ask me to play cards!
Ghosts I could cope with . . . but rats? That is another story!

Wynne Hope

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 Wedding Announcement - Boxing Day 1936 from Beryl Freestone in Australia - April 2009 

STAINSBY (Loscoe) - GILBERT (Langley Mill)

26^th December 1936

A pretty wedding at Langley Mill Parish Church on Boxing Day saw the union of Langley Mill and Loscoe families

The bride was Miss Emma Gilbert, eldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. R. Gilbert, of Sedgewick Street, Langley Mill and the bridegroom Mr James Hogg Stainsby, only son of Mrs Stainsby and the late Mr Stainsby of High‑street, Loscoe. The ceremony was performed by the Rev. White (curate of Aldercar).

Velvet had been selected by the bride for her own dress and for those of her attendants. She wore white velvet with her veil held in position with a wreath of orange blossom, and carried a bouquet of red carnations.

Miss Kathleen Gilbert (sister of the bride) and Miss Emmie Holmes (friend of the bride), the bridesmaids, wore dresses of red velvet, with beautiful headdresses of red and gold, fashioned to give a halo effect. They carried red velvet muffs and wore diamante bracelets, gifts of the bridegroom.

Mr. Joseph Spriggs friend of the bridegroom was the best man and the bride was given away by her father.

A delightful incident as the bridal party left the church was the presentation to the bride of a wooden spoon by a little friend, Miss Edna Shipley, and an old shoe by Master Frederick Shipley, symbolising their good wishes for the future.

The reception was held at Langley Mill Girls School, about 50 guests being entertained.

The bride received a chiming clock from her colleagues at the Aristoc Works, Langley Mill and the bride­groom received. cheque from his fellow members of staff at Butterley Co’s. Langley Offices.

Mr. and Mrs. Stainsby are residing at Sedgewick Street, Langley Mill

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