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Kandor

  • Thread starter Thread starter Kandor
  • Start date Start date
Hi Bill, you sure about the date?
The little kid 3 from the left at the back (2nd pic) is the image of my brother..but that would be around 62.
 
Kandor,I could not have but your sentiments any better, that's exactly how I feel when I revist the places were I grew up in Pype Hayes,and my grans in Witton road, my cousins in Loxton street, all gone,all that's left are memories,good and bad. We talk of the good old day's,they always were when you are young,with no worries,but when you look back in ones old age you realise the hard times our mother must have had caring for my brother and sisters, how embarrassed she must have been, sending my brother and me, to Digbeth police station, to get boots ect;and how sad she was having to send us all to Erdington cottage homes, when she went into hospital. if she was still alive, would she say they were the good old days?. when I revist my past home,it,s to say thanks mom
 
I’ve watched as my mother struggled to feed us with no state help while rich relatives ignored my mother’s plight….I’ve watched as bodies were bought out of houses cut from the rafters where they hung themselves. Ive watched and smelt the gas as it seaped through the walls when a neighbour took his life for a few pennies he put in the meter…I listened every night to the music and laughter that came from the pub next door…I’ve walked miles in shoes that barely had a sole, lost them in the lake at Ward End park and had to walk back home to Nechells in bare feet. Pedalled for miles without the aid of a map with just my wits to get me back home on a bicycle given and built for me by men in the scrapyard the other side of the pub. I learnt about life walking the towpaths of the cut and knew danger from an early age but it was only by luck not judgement that we never got killed as we swung from ropes thrown over iron factory girders as we went from one building to the next. By the age of ten I walked the length of the River Rea from Town to Salford We destroyed more abandoned homes than the demolition men when they started to knock our homeland down. Paint existed in those days but I never saw any colour in the streets everything was washed out Grey…we always walked in the gutter to see what we could find and often fished in drains to see what treasure could be found…our beloved Nechells a child’s paradise snotted nosed angels with grubby wings, devils from heaven but for grown ups it must have been the pits of hell.
We had a childhood and playground, which Walt Disney could not have made better
And when I was invited back to my old school everything was alien and wished I had never have gone back.
My past is like a silent movie, eerie and so real,
Sepia toned people walking along, nothing to touch or feel,
Always going back to days gone by, trying to recall the past,
Remembering smiling faces, image doesn’t last
Fading pictures in slow motion, flickering inside my brain
Images I can conjure up, the past cannot be rewound again
I am glad and proud to have been a Nechells kid and I bet if we had lived in the Wild West ....me and you Les. We would have been classed as Outlaws…Outlaws from the Homeland …
 
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So many memories Les, of your area which meant so very much to you and now disappeared for the most part. In many ways it doesn't make sense but the City Father's of the day decided to wipe the whole area off the map, for the most part. That must be more than difficult to deal with when you go back to the area as I know you do.

I think it is true that you can never go completely back in your life to your roots. Having lived abroad for many years I sometimes felt the need to walk the old neighbourhoods of my childhood and when I could afford to come back and also bring my children and show them around I would come and do just that. The area where I actually lived is little changed except for the people and when I go by the houses they will always be Mr. and Mrs Simms, Mrs. Berridges and all the other neighbours whom we knew well in the years after WW2 and into the l960's, houses. I also can walk into the house I grew up in. The initial visits home over the years were fun and all seemed fine but when my parents and my oldest brother died it just wasn't the same at all. The interior is little changed but well maintained. The trees have grown taller and obstruct the view from the back bedroom somewhat. The amazing view which encompassed everything from the ICI, Aston Villa and beyond right into Birmingham. A spectacular vista that is forever changing.

I never thought the day would come when I wouldn't feel the same as I tried to recreate the important growing up memories that took place in that house every time I entered it. All I can hope for is that some other family will move in one day and have happy and sad times just as our family did.

The area in and around Erdington is much changed also and once again I just get rather sad feelings when I visit those areas. I have friends there and love to visit them though. My Junior School, Marsh Hill has been totally rebuilt I was lucky enough to take lots of photos over the years of the original school.

The two nearby parks are where my sentimental thoughts run on in a more positive way.... Brookvale and Witton Lakes...my imagination let's me recreate the hundreds of happy hours I spent in those Parks and I really do feel good about that. These memories very often bring a smile to my face and that's perhaps because I can deal with the Parks on a different level.

Yes, we have to cherish all our memories. I have written true life stories about all of my family including my aunts and uncles. I have portrayed my Mother's life growing up in a very different Witton to the one that exists today. Also, my Father's life and his family background coming to live in Witton from Wolverhampton, ditto for both my brother's and immediate relatives. In addition to this I have written about my life and how I came to leave Birmingham and a hundred pages or more about some of my adventures over the years. It is there for my children to read when they want to.

Lastly, the twenty years of correspondence with my Mother mainly but my Father also which lies under my bed is slowly being catalogued and will eventually end up on discs as will the corresponding letters I wrote to my parents over those years. They are still in the house in Erdington. My mother's letters are brimming with news about the family as the years went by and some of them are hard to read for me because it brings back memories that are so real and it all seems not that long ago. It is, however. Finally, I created photo albums from all the photos I brought back to Canada from our house. I have one for my Mother, Father and two brothers plus a couple of others for close family.
 
You know Graham? I think you just put down everything I really wanted to say..brilliant bit of writing..
 
I read your memories Les and Graham, and they are so like the story's my dad used to tell us of his own childhood in the early years of the last century. There was never any money very little food and they slept with greatcoats as their blankets in winter. His mother struggled to bring up four sons in a back to back in Lozells, his father spent most of the money he earned in the pub. Dad used to put boot polish on the soles of his feet to hide the fact that there were holes in the soles of his shoes, he didn't have socks.

Both of my parents walked, my father would walk from Chaine Walk to Perry Barr, where he would join the canal towpath and walk to Hamstead to see my mother. When I was a baby she would push me in my pram to Hamstead.

When dad was a young man he made up his mind that if he had children they would never have to live as he had, and that he would never be without money once he could work. He was true to his word, in the 30's he found a terraced house in Witton to rent, which after the war he bought. He was careful with money, every penny spent had to be accounted for. I can see him now reaching into his back pocket to take out his stash of notes which he kept in a linen bag, that was his money box and from there the next step was the bank.

I grew up in Witton and I wouldn't change that, it was a small community and if you didn't know the person you passed in the road they were not from Witton. In those days life was spent out side, either in the road playing, or up in Aston Park. I went to Sunday School, I was a Brownie, I joined the Girls Brigade but that didn't work out because together with my friend I wore white shoes for a parade through town - well we thought they looked ok, and we probably didn't have black shoes - and we were not welcome after that. Family played a large and important part of my life, I spent a lot of time with Aunts and Uncles. Unlike today families didn't move too far from their roots.

It was a very different world, a time that I look back on with fondness. We lived within the rules set down by our parents, knew the local bobbies,
and respected our school teachers. We didn't have a lot, I used to wash my white socks at night ready for schol next morning, but I alwys had a best coat and one for everyday. Oh yes - and a new white frock at Whitsun.
 
storiesof yesterday

well kandor
nice to see you back on the forum, after being away
and your threads are terific materials to read and you certainly have a way
with words i most certainly enjoyed that story
along with the rest of the crew and there story,s
and it certainly made me reflect on my life
memories you have got cannot be taken awayfrom you
i don,t think one needs to go back down the area when one was brought up
after all as you say the fathers of this city have taken our building
from us but our memories will always be with in us
and one must not ever forget where we come from and nor our roots
and espeacialy the handing out of boots and socks
from digbeth police station which was given by the good old charityies
of the dear old b,ham eveing mail just after the war
there was nothink to be ashamed of in having them
any way kandor please keep your threads coming in on the forum
i enjoy your intresting topics, best wishes astonian
 
Les. Di. Jennyann The legacy it left me with is I cannot stand food go to waste, I enjoy good food, wine and good company, I always do any job myself, I love to travel, never been afraid of anything. Been faithful all my life to the gal I fell in love with and married. Love to draw paint and sculpt, I can smell a rat a mile away, can mix with beggars or kings and choose my friends (and Whisky) wisely …I won’t list my faults (and I know I have quite a few ) but our Ma done a good job bringing us up on her own and I am sure the environment that was Nechells moulded me for life
We though we were poor but my mate was much worse off and I often gave him by socks (to use as gloves) or my balaclava to keep him warm. On his bed he had sacks we had coats, they all drank out off jam jars and they had no back door as they had burnt it to keep warm, the front door was locked and they had lost the key so the window was permanently open and we use to enter the house by climbing through the window………..thinking about it now, I wonder if their mother had left them as there was never food in the house and like me he use to earn a few bob selling firewood and fetching coal. He lived in Walter St and if I wanted to find him, I use to go over the railway over the back and sure enough he was there, seeing what he could find before it was lost in the railway trucks. He was street wise and one of the things he use to do was pinch a load of coal from a truck and hide it, then when he fetched a 1cwt barrow of coal for the neighbours he only bought half the amount, made the barrow up to the full load from his stash and pocked the extra cash to buy food……..he lived on his wits or went under …his brother died of malnutrition…I never saw my pal again when we left Nechells but I have his image on an old school photo, and don’t want to get in touch as the pain would be to great..
 
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That should be a compulsory history lesson for all the whinging kids today who moan that they're bored when there's nothing on TV or their Playstation's broken. God knows we wouldn't wish those days of poverty back, but, by 'eck, they built character and resilience, as you have proved, Cromwell.
That from someone who lived in luxury in Handsworth - no indoor toilet, no bathroom, but I never went hungry and always had my wonderful Nan and my friends (except when they found out my mom had 'done a runner', then some of them were told not to play with me, I was a bad influence! Probably right - but their loss!)
 
This is a superb piece of writing Graham which I believe came about by you looking deep into your heart and pulling out emotions that you might not really have wanted to deal with at the time. Growing up though things were tough - you must have always equated good writing with the ability to create worlds that were miles away from your own. . . You did not wither on the vine of life you tasted the sweetness of new wine- and you got busy living!
 
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Beryl..the only way you could escape was through reading and I read all the Bunter, Famous Five and Secret Seven books and all the great Classics and could easy read five books a week ...I devoured them
The local library taught me a lot as well as the Hobby Magazines I use to have give me..........school never learnt me much only how sadistic and cruel some of the teacher were....we all have the same chance in life rich or poor but its what you do with it that counts.........
 
My family was not flush with money either or any one else we knew. Though my parents did have strick rules I knew I was loved - my grandparents lived next door - and my grandad doted on me - so I did have a very happy childhood.

On thing I do see we have in common is we were both avid readers and still are. I be sent to bed when it was still daylight and would read till I could hardly see - from Alice in Wonderland to Charles Dickens and Thomas Hardy. My favourite 'David Copperfield' I read that story more than once!

Opening a book is just like opening a world of fantasy, drama, violence, and even everyday life. It gives one knowledge -exercises the mind - stirs the imagination but still allows you the simple pleasure of reading for enjoyment

I can see by your childhood that you and your family lived on the very edge..... But you did something about it 'You did not wither on the vine of life you got busy living'

And my friend you have a lot of living to do..... As you say 'It's what you do with your life that counts'. . .
 
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And Beryl not many people can say they have achieved everyone of the ambitions......I have and now am quite content to let the World go by and just relax...and travel my beloved cuts till I am unable to.. then ya can shoot me
 
Graham not many people can say they have achieved everyone of their ambitions - But I wouldn't want anyone to shoot you - you may decide to set yourself another goal?
 
Beryl, Sailed the Nile, been down the Grand Canyon, across Monument Valley, in the Pyramids, under the Ocean, scaled mountains, traveled the cuts, rode the range, toured the battlefields......wrote all the books I wanted to write, made everything I wanted to, seen the kids and grandkids grow up, have a great wife and had a wonderful life and Nechells played a big part in dictating my future....as well as the Library as it made me determined to see everything I read about in the books...So No I have no more goals in life only to be happy and content....and thats a lot more than a lot of folk have.
 
I have to say having met Cromwell and his lovely wife I can see where he is coming from, he is very contented. They are a lovely couple and very generous as Pom will verify. I felt so at home in their home which is always a sign of contentment. I will also have you know he never swore once at my driving last week!
 
You DROVE Wendy! And Cromwell didn't swear at you? So...did he hit you with his white stick I wonder? :D
 
A photo from another World ....Me in the right hand corner just after my Pa had died clutching a toy he had made me for Xmas cut from our stair banister... and just before we had to all go in to Erdington Cottage Homes after our Ma had a nervous breakdown.....Les I am thinking of ya.....Hang on in their our kid
 
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Graham what a wonderful but sad photo, after your explanation and the look on your sisters face it made me cry. I know how I felt when my Dad died and I was 15. You were all so young and your poor mother. There are no words...........I suppose these things are what make us who we are. Try and keep strong Les.
 
I am so sorry Wendy if I made you cry, that was not my intention
Today as I look back my eyes are permanently watered but why? I had such a happy childhood free to roam anywhere I chose…but what I did not see as a child was the suffering and heartbreak that was all around me…only now do I understand what went on and the hardships folks suffered.
The good old days are a myth portrayed by the older generation as something that has gone… through rose tinted glasses…but how I wish I could relive my childhood again
The folks in the pub next door around the piano belting out songs at the top of their voices singing “We’ll meet again don’t know where don’t now when” and going home to knock their wife to bits all because she told him his dinner was burnt because he was late coming from the pub.
Each family had their own tale to tell and each one never understood the other one’s story as each one was trying to survive in their own little world …talking to folk today about the past and its as if they were from a different country where food was plentiful and the kids had toys and people smiled..If I had a magic wand how I wish I could go back and help all the folk who struggled and died not knowing what happiness was our how their kids would turn out…..one of my friends was hung for murder another died in his first car ...friends parents committed suicide or died of T.B.all this shaped our lives for better our worse..each and everyone of us has a tale to tell some will never get heard…me I have put it all down for my grandchildren so they can say Granddad has left us a fairy tale but it does not make us laugh...
 
Quite a few people who hark back to the "good old days" mainly remember the best parts, as it is less painfull than remembering the bad bits.
I had a mate at school who had a lot less in life than I ever did, his father was killed during the war so his Mother had to bring him up alone. I sat next to him in class, mainly because no one else would. This may have been because he was not too clean and maybe a bit smelly with really ragged clothes, but he was a good mate to me. We shared whatever we had( which in his case was a lot less than me).
One day we were sitting in the class and he started crying for no apparent reason. I asked him what the matter was and he said something really frightening. " when I got home for me dinner, I found me Mom hanging from the bannister on the stairs, but please don't tell anyone cuz they might fink I did it".
I had not got a clue what to do, so I asked the teacher if I could go to the toilet, instead I ran all the way home and told my Mom, who woke my Dad up who was on nights and they went round to my mates house, where they did indeed find the body of my mates Mom.
I never saw him again from that day to this, but I hope he had a great life.
FOOTNOTE
I was caned for leaving school without permission , but it never hurt as much as the thought that I'd let him down by telling my Mom.
.
 
Oh my Cromwell and Postied your stories make me feel so humble. I was exteamly lucky to have a comfortable childhood although my teenage years were hard. I always feel sad reading these tales but I think its so important to pass them on for the future. I always say I never judge I wasn't there, every home had its own story. Thank you both for sharing your memories with us.
 
I remember when my mom left home in 1949, she went to live with her 'fancy man' (as my gran put it). I was eight years old and told everyone she was dead because of the shame of it. When I was fourteen, my teacher found out I was on my own with Dad and had kept house for us both since I was twelve and my gran died, she then realised why I always played the wag on a Friday - it was 'housewifery' day and I didn't see why I should have to go and clean some posh teacher's house in Albert Road when I'd just finished doing my own!
Mom and I met up again two years after she'd left and, though we were never really close, I felt ashamed because I'd told people she'd died.
We never lived in poverty..but, if it hadn't been for my gran and an aunt, I don't know how I would have managed. As it was, I always felt deprived emotionally.....if your mom doesn't love you enough to stay with you, why should anyone else?
Oh 'eck, I feel a right whinger now, sorry. It wasn't a bad childhood and, as has been said, we had more freedom then to play in the streets and roam far and near without worries. There was a lot to be grateful for, but I don't just remember the good times.....
 
Like Wendy I am in bits at the moment.

Having read your posts today (and Kandors).

Cromwell, Postied & Charlie - well what can I say.

I am a little younger than you ( I think) -grew up in the 50's.

I thought I was hard done by until I read your memoirs.

We weren't well off -far from it.

Lived in a villa house in Aston - Clifton Road - my mother was a cleaner (went to work when my sister and I got home from school). Dad never came home until 7.30 at night - didn't realise he worked over every night to make ends meet.

When my sister and I were a little older my mother took on an extra job as "lollipop lady" at the bottom of Portland Hill where it meets Lichfield Road.

I remember by Mom making my Dads sandwhiches for work the next day - bread and dripping (with salt and pepper) or cheese (if he was lucky).

You all ought to get together and write a book. I am sure it would be a best seller.

Fay
 
The tears flow often when I read of the lives of you who I have come to think of as friends. Even though my own childhood was less than perfect, I have good memories thank God and so I can and often do write about those days with fond thoughts. My pa like so many of his generation suffered just about every deprivation known to a child in the early years of the 20th Century, and yet he spoke of the good old days. I think we have to remember the good bits to survive.
 
:angel: Many of the memories that Les, Cromwell and the rest have mentioned I can also relate to. My Dad being almost blind was always out of work and we never had any money. We kids did what we could from an early age to earn a little money that was always given to our Mom. One thing that always sticks in my mind was one day after a big violent row when I was about 7, chasing Mom down Dymoke St begging her to come back home, as she had packed her suit case and was leaving us all. She did come back, but the rows continued and my begging both my parents not to leave each other also continued. just a few words I have written over time of some of my Childhood memories:

My Mom & Dad

I know that I loved my Mom and Dad.
His name was Les and she is Glad.
The love they’d shared had long since gone.
So living with them was not much fun.
They would fight and ague with all their might
We kids were scared both day and night.

Mom had a mind full of demons and ills.
The doctors proscribed her with addictive pills.
The pills they made the anger raise more.
So Dad would walk out and slam the door.
They did not divorce till us kids were all grown.
So one by one we packed up and left home.

Dad’s been dead now, many a long year.
And Mom’s confined to a wheelchair.
Glad now lives in a nursing home.
Where she’s well cared for and not alone.
This sad tale has no sad end, for she now gets visits.
And I get photos taken and sent from a kind, caring friend.

A poem for my Dad

My Dad he was a lovely man
I'll tell you a little about him if I can.
He liked to have a lot of fun
This did not always please my Mom.
He was almost blind, but he could see
Making people laugh was the way to be.
He played the piano in Brummie pubs
This helped to clothe and feed his cubs.
With Dad on the piano and his mate Jock on the spoons
They would give our neighbours some real good dance tunes.
When times were tough, or times were hard
He'd make his own brew down our back yard.
He was a VILLA fan through and through
Although could just take 'The Blues' like a number of you.
Now for my Dad please don't shed tears
'cause he's been gone a great number of years.
I know that sounds a long time dead
But I still remember him, with love inside my head.

To Be or Not To Be.‚.…

You never had a chance at all
an embryo so very small

They needed you just as you were
to use your eyes for medical care

You may have grown so big and strong
in my view what they did was wrong

Your life was taken at that time
that life so easily could've been mine

If the decision had been made four years before
a decision made with in the law

I feel so sad about your plight
and sight or not you’re right to life

I know it’s not so in every case
some would not cope in this human race

But just like the siblings you would've had
I know you’d have coped young Bro’ and been a great lad.

These memories make me what I am today and for the most part I like what I am :cool:

POM :angel:

Foot Note: This was meant to be added in the main body, but Grandchildren were nagging to be fed....

It was Les who kindly took and sent me the photo's of my Mom and came with me to the Home, the first time I went to visit her during my trip this year 2007.
It was Graham who opened his home to me to stay while I was in Birmingham for that visit.
It was other members of this great site who made me welcome and took time out of their busy days to meet up with me and make my trip enjoyable and interesting.
Thanx to you all.
POM
 
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st johns church dollman st

hi les do you remember that church in dollman st i was in the church choir there because i grew up in northumberland st like you lived there in 1954 untill i got married lovely place fond memories mary
 
Some of the stories in this thread must be a real eye-opener to those of us who were lucky to have a more comfortable childhood. They certainly are to me. They sound more like the world of Kathleen Dayus and from them one learns that the conditions and circumstances she witnessed lasted here and there for a further 30, 40 or even 50 years. We have the privilege of reading important pieces of social history as well as remarkable personal reminiscences. Thanks for them and let’s hope that with the help of this forum they last a long, long time.

How do I put this tactfully? Well, I’m a pedantic old wotsit and like to put things into their historical context. Perhaps I’m in a minority of one over this. Very often in reminiscences of this type throughout the birminghamhistory forum, the period which is being referred to is clear, from the context or even quoted dates, as is mainly the case in this thread. But sometimes one reads something quite incredible and then one wonders – was this 1935 or was it 1960? Perhaps it doesn’t really matter. But if the contributor can remember to make it clear, then the longer term historical value of the piece is even greater.

Chris
 
I must have missed reading this thread when it was first started. Like others here I think that this is a very poignant insight into the times and to some degree many of us will recognize the happenings. I do not personally despair with the destruction of most of the area. Certainly burned in childhood memories have become only that but it is possible that we retain at the front of these memories, the good ones; the ones we feel most comfortable with. Finding someone’s mom hanging from a banister and the reaction of the child is not easily shoved to the back, I know, but this kind of thing to a lesser degree can be. We were children and because we knew no better, simple things impressed and delighted. Rightly so. We made our own bows and arrows. Arrows from someone’s little private hedge, probably, and fought the hordes from the neighboring street across the bombed buildings sight. Not thinking at all about the people that had died on the ground under foot. These things, as stated, are burned into memory but should not be paramount in our minds. Memories of a lost past can be miserable place to be. A place that I am sure that most of our parents would not want us to visit, even if only in our minds. For the most part I do not despair at the loss of the dreary row and back to back, coal burning, butt freezing, houses of my youth. The mind numbing sameness of form remembered in sepia tones now, as I think I read here. Just thinking about it I can smell the smoky air. Certainly there were a few places that were pleasant and lifted our spirits and these places are missed but for the most part this was not the case. What I find disappointing is that, what replaced the old buildings is not seemingly an improvement for the soul. I have to say that for the large part this is a statement made from a distance but is also based on what I read here.
It’s time to move on in our thoughts. I think that contemplating accomplishments in our lives is a far more up-lifting activity. The accomplishments yet to come are intriguing. I have not finished yet. What the heck did I do with my screwdriver.
 
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