It was a real treat to catch the No 2 bus and arrive in that beautiful spot with the picturesque houses across the stream with their own little bridges. Stark contrast to the terraces of Chorley Old Road.
There was a wonderful boating lake there with a tuck shop and candy floss kiosk. As a kid, I loved going to the Odeon for Saturday morning pictures and later when I was a teenager they had touring rock and pop shows. Then, the Octagon Theatre started Saturday afternoon blues sessions — Bluesology. What a great age to be a teenager! For more information go to www. David Ridings writes for 5thingstodotoday. Only people who register and sign up to our terms and conditions can post comments. These terms and conditions explain our house rules and legal guidelines.
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Register to create your own unique Lancashire Life account for free. Ten of the best afternoon teas in Lancashire and the Lake District. Win one of ten delicious vegan snack hampers. Most Read Woman dies at scene of serious crash. Everything we know so far. Three Ipswich stabbings reported in less than 12 hours. Lancashire Life magazine January — out in the shops or available to buy online now. The boys and some girls of fair view had found ways of entering the shelters and using them as play areas.
All the time we lived in Fair View, they were never used as air-raid shelters, but they were regularly used as play areas. All our training and gang hut building had a purpose; we were at war with the Thorn Bank Gang. On the other side of the large open field in front of our houses lay Thorn Bank. One of the largest families on the estate was the Hawkin family. The Thorn Bank gang was made up mainly of the Hawkin boys plus several of their neighbours.
Why we were always at war with them I never found out. Members of our gang were assigned to keep an eye on the other side of the field and warn the remaining members when ever the Thorn Bank Gang entered the field. Once the alarm had been raised, we filled our pockets with stones, donned our tin hats and walked out to meet them around centre field. Once within throwing distance the battle commenced.
Injured members were treated by the girl members of the gang who posed as nurses. We won the battle if we chased them back off the field and into Thorn Bank. We lost if they chased us onto Fair View Road. There were times when our invincible leader decided it was time to declare war on Thorn Bank. Since they very rarely played on the field most battles had to be pre-arranged. The volunteer was accompanied by two or three other members each with a pocket full of stones just in case there was an ambush waiting. The problem was resolved by a peace treaty to which both sides agreed.
Their members could equally under threat if more than one of our gang were at the Chip Shop together. If a medal became available to anyone in the gang it had to be awarded for brave acts by Jack, our leader. We often fought more aggressively if a medal was in the offering.
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In a German song was translated into English and became quite popular. We would never accept the possibility of anything German becoming popular in Britain, but if it was captured it became a trophy of war. One day, we were each given a letter at school to take home to our parents. It appeared that children from London were being moved north and the government were looking for families to take them in. My brothers and I though it would be a good idea to have a girl come into our home. She would do the washing up and generally house cleaning whilst mum was out at work.
This would give us more playing out time. She wrote back agreeing to take an evacuee and expressing appreciation for his kind remarks. Mr Goddard never saw her letter. The evacuees arrived; we had not been allocated a girl. It was not a good situation and was only tolerated by my mother.
Eventually they moved into their own rented house in Shawforth. I recall dad coming home one evening and saying Manchester was being heavily bombed. From the front door you could see the glow of the burning city in the distant sky line. It was claimed that Bacup did receive one bomb but it never exploded. Each house had a bucket or some other container into which was thrown any left over food. Periodically the container was carried across the road and placed in the swill bin, to be collected by a farmer who fed the swill to his pigs. In South Street, Bacup a large restaurant was opened for the workers and servicemen.
Children were allowed to have a meal there if accompanied by an adult. I loved going to the restaurant for a meal.
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It was better than eating at school. The food was better, and the noisy, smoke filled dining area seemed warm and friendly. People greeted each other with a smile, laughed and joked and generally enjoyed each others company in a relaxed and friendly atmosphere. A visit to the cinema matinee on a Saturday afternoon during the war cost 4d admission in the cheapest seats at the Regal and 6d in the best.
Saturday matinees always had the same format, a cartoon, a short, a main feature and a serial episode. We received 6d pocket money so we usually went in the 4d seats and spent the 2d on something to eat. They looked like caramel sweets wrapped in white paper but tasted more like candle tallow. Other times we called in at the health shop and bought dried bananas. Occasionally we would pool our money and buy a packet of Rowntrees cocoa then try to persuade mum to let us have some sugar to make a cocoa dip.
During the week the two local cinemas, the Regal and the old theatre converted to a cinema and called the Empire, had two main feature films each week. The first showed twice nightly on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. The second was twice nightly on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Whenever we could get the money we would go to the first house at least twice a week.
Friday night, Dad went out Union collecting and we stayed in with mum. Of course, the news was always listened to by our parents and one news reader in particular became very popular. His name was Wilfred Pickles. His accent somehow seemed to win through.
This was quite unusual for the BBC to have some one at that time who spoke with a regional accent. Perhaps that was what made him popular. During the latter part of the war, the small bedroom was out of bounds leading up to Christmas. Dad spent many hours in the room but we had no idea what he was doing until Christmas morning.
In the living room were two bicycles, one for Colin and one for me. Eventually a solution was found; the peddles would be built up with blocks of wood. Uncle Dan, not a real uncle, a close friend of the family had been a keen cyclist prior to the war and had a hut full of bicycle parts. He had given dad enough parts to make up the two cycles. Dad had managed to get some paint from somewhere, probably work, and hand painted them. Very few of my friends had a bike of their own, new or otherwise. One Saturday, mum, dad and we three boys had taken a trip to Burnley to do some shopping.
As we passed by the Burnley Vic Theatre, who should be the star attraction, none other than the famous news reader, Wilfred Pickles. Mum suggested to dad that we go to the matinee performance. Dad left us to see if there were any spare seats. He returned with tickets for seats in the gods. To gain access to those dizzy heights meant we had to enter the theatre around the back and climb, what seemed to be an eternal stairway. This balcony, being the third level was high up that the backs of the seats in front of us were almost at floor level.
Had I swung my legs I might have kicked the person in front in the back of the head. The show had a variety of performers only two of which I can now remember. I recall a rather strange sensation at the thought of seeing someone for the first time who I had known as a bodiless voice on the radio. The interval came and went and the next performance began.
I thought it might have something to do with the fact that much of what was going on seemed to be out of view since being so high up we were prevented from seeing the upper part of some ladies standing or sitting on white columns.
The scene kept changing and an announcer was describing each performance as a works of art. Colin and I kept bending down to try to see what was going on, which only made mum more angry with dad and both tried to prevent us bending down saying we would fall. The whole scene was positively boring. Along with mum, we were glad when the whole performance was over. Several years later I discovered what the fuss was all about.
Author releases stories from post-war Burnley childhood
Having moved to Bacup, dad transferred to the Bacup branch of the Home Guard. Eventually they were fully kitted out with uniform and guns. I recall one day a big event taking place between the Home Guard and a regiment of regular soldiers on Bacup Rec. In a field near by the public were invited to witness a mock battle and afterwards view various guns and vehicles. The whole event ended in a march past in the centre of town. I recall marching along the pavement at the side of my dad until a policeman returned me to my mother.
One day, at school, we were told the Americans had sent over food parcels for each family. No one knew it could be made into a drink. I recall our first bonfire when war was over. Our gang set out to gather wood for the big celebration.
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The trouble was, none of us could ever remember going to a bonfire before in our lives. We had had several camp fires and understood a bonfire was bigger but we had no idea of how big. Our first attempt was far from the ideal. The trunk of the tree burnt for several days. King George VI sent a message to every child in the country. It was embossed with gold and other coloured lettering. We hung mine on the bedroom wall. It stayed there for a long time and unfortunately disappeared, possibly when we eventually moved back to Britannia after the war.
The War Years were very hard for many people, especially those who lost loved ones, had their homes and possessions destroyed, saw their businesses crumble due to shortages and those who experienced none of those but had sons or husbands away fighting and had to suffer the uncertainty as to whether they would ever see them again. My war was free from any of those extremely distressing experiences. I only suffered a stone hitting me on the head during one of our gang wars and Freda Smith, in here nurses outfit, wanting to nurse me back to health. I suppose I was almost an outside observer, occasionally looking in.
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