• Welcome to this forum . We are a worldwide group with a common interest in Birmingham and its history. While here, please follow a few simple rules. We ask that you respect other members, thank those who have helped you and please keep your contributions on-topic with the thread.

    We do hope you enjoy your visit. BHF Admin Team
  • HI folks the server that hosts the site completely died including the Hdd's and backups.
    Luckily i create an offsite backup once a week! this has now been restored so we have lost a few days posts.
    im still fixing things at the moment so bear with me and im still working on all images 90% are fine the others im working on now
    we are now using a backup solution

Hartfield Crescent Ninestiles School

i think it is in acocks green looking for anyone who went there maybe from 1940's to 1960's does anyone remember john tustin or elsie barnett?

kmt
 
Last edited:
I think you will find its Hartfield Crescent, off Fox Hollies Rd. ;)
 
My mum went there. Would have been about 65-70.

Edit. See also Harrison Barrow Girls Grammar School.
 
I went there from '67 to '71. I think Harris & Barrow, the other half of the school for girls, finished in '68/9. I had two sisters and a brother that preceded me, which is why i had some unwanted attention from a few of the teachers there.... I left in 1971 aged 15,... Just as they raised the leaving age.
I belonged to Baskerville house which was blue... My form (4V) teacher being Mr Bowles the English teacher.... Was Gaskell the headmaster? McEwan the math teacher & train enthusiast comes to mind... Miss Threlkeld too... mmmmmm!!!! Tasty! Mr Hunt, the deputy head... Mrs Summers (water wings), the girls PE teacher.... Mr Jacks(on?) the boys PE teacher...

Memories are a bit faded i'm afraid. Secondary school wasn't my favourite time, sadly :(

Will have a think on it. :)

BiLL
 
Have a look on the web site Friends Reunited.co.uk. Both schools are on there Hartfield Crescent and Harrison Barrow. For Hartfield put just the word Hartfield in the search then you will find it. Harrison Barrow has a much bigger site. If you are looking for info on teachers
hit the "Message Board" area on the top menu. There are lots of photos on both sites and many ex-pupils too.
 
Albion,you obviously started as i left ,teachers i remember were Mr Quiney woodwork,Mr Richmond metalwork,Mr Summers P.E.,Mr Cook Headmmaster,Mr Sanders library/5th year,Mrs Wood my last form teacher.I was in Arden,best mates with David Ellgood,Allen Taylor,Graham Higgins,George Reeves[Jasper],Kerry Morgan,Gordon Hopkins,My favourite teacher was Mr Grindley a kind man who as far as i can remember never raised his voice or caned anyone unlike 1 or2 of the others who if they didn't cane you or give you detention once a week you would think you may have upset them.
 
I can remember going to dances there just before I got married in 1954, there w as two halls, with a live band in each one, if you didnt want a samba, you walked thru into
the other hall for a quickstep, I think it was half a crown to get in, tea, coffee or soft drinks, no beer. O Happy Days seems so long ago now. Bernard
 
Bernard,little bit early for me 1954 but i still remember the two halls one was the main assembley hall the other also used for assembley but mainly for P.E. till they built the gym in the 60s.
 
Not a school I ever attended, but my wife's whole school live was spent there. 49 to 59 I believe. I heard very good things about the school when Dexter Hutt was in charge. But I believe it has slid back to it's old ways since he left.

Phil

AcocksGreenCouncilSchoolHartfieldCrescentNinestiles-1.jpg
 
My mom went there, she used to live on Olton Boulevard, but moved to Sutton and used to get 2 buses there every day, would have been 1949 I think will ask her later and re-post.
Sue
 
Hartfield Crescent School hasn't changed an iota since this photo was taken, well leastwise not at the front, they have now added a leisure centre and swimming pool at the rear. My wife attended there from 1949 to 1959
.
Phil

AcocksGreenCouncilSchoolHartfieldCrescentNinestiles.jpg
 
Phil, what was your wifes maiden name? My mom went there from 1949 to 1954, her name was Ann Marston - it was a grammar school then, mom had to pass her 11 plus to go.
Sue
 
When I went to Harrison Barrow Girls' Grammar School from 1962 - 9 the building was divided into two with the grammar school at the left hand side as you look at the photo posted. The schools were combined into a Comprehensive in the early 70s, my sister completed her 6th form at the Comprehensive not the grammar school.
Lesley
 
Mom says the school was split as you said Lesley, but it was a boys school in the other part and they were never allowed to meet! Moms friends at school wer Barbara Davies and Ann Jones.
Sue
 
Hi sistersue.

I've spoken to my wife and she says she sorry but she has no memory of your mother, but as during those years she would have only been in the infants and juniors it is not surprising.

She also says that during her time there there was a infant, junior & senior school with the college attached. She attended the none college section and tells me that it was a mixed sex school.

Phil
 
I attended Hartfield Crecent School between 1960 and 1965. They were great times really enjoyed my times there. I found my science teacher very inspirational and he help me a great deal in choosing my future career even though he didn't know it the time.
We had great times with the girls as well, a lot of fun especially round by the old air raid shelters! I hope the kids of today enjoy themselves as much as we did. John
 
I went to Hartfield Crescent Sec Mod between 1957-60 remember Mr Cook was Headmaster, Mr Sanders Deputy with Miss Wood in charge of girls (it was definately mixed them days) Teachers included Mr Cockerel who married Miss Balmforth ( I think that was her name) Mr Grundy , Mr Chew,Mr Quinney (woodwork) Mr Richmond -metalwork ( hated both teacher and subject) Miss Cave ( cried very easily)
I learnt the basics there and was further educated at the University of Life.
Had to become a Postman to get letters after my name!!!!!
Danny (Baskerville house forever)
 
Great pics Carolina, have you got rellies on any of them? Must ask mom I think she has a photo from Hartfield Crescent, would be in the early 50's - will go and write a note!
Sue
 
After 1945, I recall that Hartfield Crescent School had the best football team in South Birmingham, and won most of the major trophies.

I played for Golden Hillock Road in 1946/7, and we could never beat them. Eddie.
 
My Dad describes his first day at school circa 1931- unedited piece called The Learning from his memoirs. This would have been describing the walk from home in Gospel Lane to Hartfield Crescent...................

It is Monday morning.

This will be my first day at school.
I was ready and rearing to go. I edged my way cautiously but deliberately toward the door. It was as if I was willing myself to be spirited to the place of learning.
If my outward appearance gave the impression of excitement and enthusiasm then it was far from the truth. My innards had the golly-wobbles.
Whenever it was necessary to go someplace – Then like a homing pigeon; the sooner I got there the better.
If by chance I had free choice, it would be different. My starting time could then be of my own choosing.
To me – A committal is one of sacred obligation. I’d be waiting at the starting post with time to spare. My reflexes would be rearing to go and my engine at the ready.

On this occasion no time of commencement had been stated.

Unexpectedly (before I was ready) there came a knock on the door. I couldn’t see who it was but I had a shrewd idea. It would be friends calling for Geoff.
It must surely be them.
Geoff went to the door and I followed. (my Dads elder brother)
Mum pulled me back.

You are not to go with them. You must attend class later because it is your first day. It is customary for new pupils to report directly to the head mistress on the day of admission. This has to be a little later than normal class time.
Some time had passed before we started out - Far too much for my liking.
Second thoughts were beginning to shape in my mind.

Mum and I eventually started out. It was at a brisk pace with me tailing along holding her hand. My free hand trailed through privet hedges of every house we passed. Perhaps I was subconsciously trying to throw out an anchor to prevent the inevitable. Was my willingness to attend schooling a mistake?

Doubts were beginning to loom.

Mum had sensed my reluctance to hurry. Her pace quickened causing me to fall. My mind began calculating. It occurred to me that we might now have to return home for her to attend my injury.
No such idea had entered mum’s head. We continued.
This would be the first time that I had walked to anywhere that entailed a definite purpose. Until now it had always been in the course of play.
Usually I ambled at a carefree pace in search of whatever might attract me.
In those circumstances it was more as naturalness in pursuant of pleasure.

Whatever reason there is for walking anywhere – There wasn’t much choice.
Walking hereabout was the only form of travel.
My family didn’t own a horse and trap - Unless dad had been keeping secrets.
The nearest association our family had to a horse is dad’s father. He had been a groom. Dad often referred to his bike as being his trusty mare. It was also called his iron horse. He was full of comic phrases.
We children jokingly used such phrases ourselves. It is a language that I’m more in tune with.
Dad’s quotes were many of which he had a never-ending source.
Quotations to suit any occasion were his hallmark. These he would constantly quote whenever the need arose.
Whatever and whenever the occasion there’d be a fitting quotation to suit each situation. “FEET ARE MADE FOR WALKING” . . . . is one of many.
Had I have complained on this journey to school – Mum would surely have given me such an answer. Perhaps they may one day set that quote to music.

In the meantime mum’s pace didn’t slacken.
Whenever my steps faltered; mum would swing around in temper.
During these moments of conflict I’d realise that mum intended to be Gaffa’.
But wasn’t she always!
Mum’s eager pacing to reach school in record time took its toll. My legs ached relentlessly. This continued until our destination was finally reached.

The school was now in full view.

In no time at all we were at the entrance.
Mum paused outside the main gate. This was to be inspection time . . . of me.
She scrutinised me like a bug under a microscope. She hastily reached into her pocket. Out came a large comb. I had no illusion as to what would follow. I was to be groomed. I took precautionary measures and held on tightly to the iron rails of the school gate. If I hadn’t I would have chalked up a second fall of this day.
When mum combs hair it is with the same resilience as the maintenance workers resurfacing a road.

Stage one having been completed, there comes a review of me. She fishes into her pocket again. Out comes a hanky. My face underwent a scrub and retexture.
Fortunately; mum never used the deplorable habit that some do – This is the wetting of a hanky with spittle. Mum used the good old-fashioned dry torture with plenty of elbow grease.
If I had looked a little pale to begin with it soon changed. After a torturous rubbing there came a surge of heat to my face. Colour flushed to it like a rosy apple.
Mum wasn’t muscular but she could scrub ruthlessly.
A few adjustments to my attire followed. She eyed me with her usual half approval look. She appeared moderately satisfied. There was always reluctance for her to give top marks to whatever my condition.

Without further ado she grabbed my hand. She set off at brisk regimental pace to the head’s office with me in tow . . . and hanging on for dear life.

A brief but welcoming introduction came from the headmistress.
HC.JPG
RLB.JPG
I was then taken to a classroom.
 
Last edited:
mbenne said:
My Dad describes his first day at school circa 1931- unedited piece called The Learning from his memoirs. This would have been describing the walk from home in Gospel Lane to Heartfield Crescent...................

It is Monday morning.

This will be my first day at school.
I was ready and rearing to go. I edged my way cautiously but deliberately toward the door. It was as if I was willing myself to be spirited to the place of learning.
If my outward appearance gave the impression of excitement and enthusiasm then it was far from the truth. My innards had the golly-wobbles.
Whenever it was necessary to go someplace – Then like a homing pigeon; the sooner I got there the better.
If by chance I had free choice, it would be different. My starting time could then be of my own choosing.
To me – A committal is one of sacred obligation. I’d be waiting at the starting post with time to spare. My reflexes would be rearing to go and my engine at the ready.

On this occasion no time of commencement had been stated.

Unexpectedly (before I was ready) there came a knock on the door. I couldn’t see who it was but I had a shrewd idea. It would be friends calling for Geoff.
It must surely be them.
Geoff went to the door and I followed. (my Dads elder brother)
Mum pulled me back.

You are not to go with them. You must attend class later because it is your first day. It is customary for new pupils to report directly to the head mistress on the day of admission. This has to be a little later than normal class time.
Some time had passed before we started out - Far too much for my liking.
Second thoughts were beginning to shape in my mind.

Mum and I eventually started out. It was at a brisk pace with me tailing along holding her hand. My free hand trailed through privet hedges of every house we passed. Perhaps I was subconsciously trying to throw out an anchor to prevent the inevitable. Was my willingness to attend schooling a mistake?

Doubts were beginning to loom.

Mum had sensed my reluctance to hurry. Her pace quickened causing me to fall. My mind began calculating. It occurred to me that we might now have to return home for her to attend my injury.
No such idea had entered mum’s head. We continued.
This would be the first time that I had walked to anywhere that entailed a definite purpose. Until now it had always been in the course of play.
Usually I ambled at a carefree pace in search of whatever might attract me.
In those circumstances it was more as naturalness in pursuant of pleasure.

Whatever reason there is for walking anywhere – There wasn’t much choice.
Walking hereabout was the only form of travel.
My family didn’t own a horse and trap - Unless dad had been keeping secrets.
The nearest association our family had to a horse is dad’s father. He had been a groom. Dad often referred to his bike as being his trusty mare. It was also called his iron horse. He was full of comic phrases.
We children jokingly used such phrases ourselves. It is a language that I’m more in tune with.
Dad’s quotes were many of which he had a never-ending source.
Quotations to suit any occasion were his hallmark. These he would constantly quote whenever the need arose.
Whatever and whenever the occasion there’d be a fitting quotation to suit each situation. “FEET ARE MADE FOR WALKING” . . . . is one of many.
Had I have complained on this journey to school – Mum would surely have given me such an answer. Perhaps they may one day set that quote to music.

In the meantime mum’s pace didn’t slacken.
Whenever my steps faltered; mum would swing around in temper.
During these moments of conflict I’d realise that mum intended to be Gaffa’.
But wasn’t she always!
Mum’s eager pacing to reach school in record time took its toll. My legs ached relentlessly. This continued until our destination was finally reached.

The school was now in full view.

In no time at all we were at the entrance.
Mum paused outside the main gate. This was to be inspection time . . . of me.
She scrutinised me like a bug under a microscope. She hastily reached into her pocket. Out came a large comb. I had no illusion as to what would follow. I was to be groomed. I took precautionary measures and held on tightly to the iron rails of the school gate. If I hadn’t I would have chalked up a second fall of this day.
When mum combs hair it is with the same resilience as the maintenance workers resurfacing a road.

Stage one having been completed, there comes a review of me. She fishes into her pocket again. Out comes a hanky. My face underwent a scrub and retexture.
Fortunately; mum never used the deplorable habit that some do – This is the wetting of a hanky with spittle. Mum used the good old-fashioned dry torture with plenty of elbow grease.
If I had looked a little pale to begin with it soon changed. After a torturous rubbing there came a surge of heat to my face. Colour flushed to it like a rosy apple.
Mum wasn’t muscular but she could scrub ruthlessly.
A few adjustments to my attire followed. She eyed me with her usual half approval look. She appeared moderately satisfied. There was always reluctance for her to give top marks to whatever my condition.

Without further ado she grabbed my hand. She set off at brisk regimental pace to the head’s office with me in tow . . . and hanging on for dear life.

A brief but welcoming introduction came from the headmistress.
View attachment 123682
View attachment 123683
I was then taken to a classroom.
Click to expand...
Our Paths cross again!!! My mother lived in Oakhill Crescent and attended Hartfield Crescent in the 1930s. (Did this school become Harrison Barrow girls School?)
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top