MEMORIES OF OLD KNOTTINGLEY

recalled by

FRANK WEBSTER CHAMBERS

Published in memory of Frank Webster Chambers with the
kind permission of his Grandson, Carey Jonathan Chambers

BOOK FOUR

THE MEMORABLE AWAKENING OF RIP VAN FRANKLE

Asleep I've been for sixty years, my larder is quite bare
I'm going out to stock it up, from the shops I know out there.

I hope to meet the characters, who helped build this town of glass
And swap an anecdote or two, if we perchance to pass.

On Uncle Smokey Daw I'll call, if not it will mean trouble
The message that he greets me with, "Get a tanner on Mick's double"

Immediately I write a slip, it would, he said, win plenty
And full of hope forthwith I went, and visited Pop Penty.

Albert Scaife, he took my bet, and wished me lots of luck
As I left I dropped on Monty - he was going to The Buck.

Could that be Ellie Mailey?, I'm not sure but it may be
If so, one thing he's sure to know, how Moses crossed t'Red Sea.

I'm feeling rather peckish, no shopping done so far
So I just bob into Lyon's shop, for a cut price chocolate bar.

My next stop must be Laurie Cook's - I'm ready for a crop
The I'll buy a jar of Brylcreem, from Dove's the Chemist's shop.

Bill Hayes is standing at his door, he sells stuff second hand
Also he races greyhounds, among the fastest in the land.

Charlie Tucker passes by, on his way down to The Trap
You can hear his chest a mile off, he was a really wheezy chap.

He's going playing dominoes, that's if he isn't late
If that be so, he'll find his seat, occupied by Tommy Speight.

Everyone knew that chap, he had travelled far and near
Contracting round the country, and sampling all the beer.

Into The Trap comes Chalker James, a special friend of mine
He was really so disabled, but one never heard him whine.

The only whining you would hear, I really should say wails
Was when Scotch Bob got on his feet, and sang you Nine Inch Nails.

Percy Turpin the piano played, he could produce a great refrain
As Albert Pearson shunted in, he played The Runaway Train.

Who recalls that tug, The Barrow, with its chimney belching smoke?
Jock Kiernan was the engineer, a talented and nice bloke.

A boat they called the Fear Not, on the canal it used to run
And if my information's right, on it a murder done.

It still remains a mystery, no body was ever found
Perhaps it was all speculation, or a rumour going round.

And still I have no shopping done, but I will have to make a start
But hold it! is that Charlie Sheard, with a horse but not a cart?

His charge it was magnificent, polished brasses, plaited mane
Was there any wonder, he'd first prizes to his name?

He was so attached to horses, I'd bet to get to sleep
He counted them like you and I, would likewise do with sheep.

What wondrous tales we gather, as we go about our life
Whoever heard of anyone, swapping pigeons for his wife?

But I'm assured that this is gospel, and Bentley was his name
So be it right or be it wrong, that's one man's claim to fame.

They say a chap called Stenton, had on his back tattooed
A fox's tail with head and body, disappearing somewhere rude.

We all know Cubby Junior, of the younger generation
He decided his anatomy, required some decoration.

No anchors, snakes or monograms, were included in this farce
Oh no, he has a pair of eyes, tattooed upon his arse.

Tipp-toes Greenwood shouts, "Hey up!", as his bike he pedals past
However did he manage it?, that's the question that I'm asked.

It's just another reason, why we should not complain
If we can walk and get about, with no discomfort and no pain.

Let's spare a thought for Dickie Baines, and how he got about
On a kind of home made trolley, but he did so, there's no doubt.

Those were the so called 'Good Old Days', no charity or social care
Today that poor chap would have had, a battery powered chair.

To Mrs. Downing's 'Speedway' now, some fish and chips to try
And chat with Annie Tucker, as I wait for them to fry.

Womersley Road the venue now, some tea from Horner's for my caddy
Who's that going in the cemetery?, I think it's Nagger Addy.

That man could put you in your place, of that there is no doubt
And once he gets you settled in, you can bet there's no way out.

Bastows had a little shop, a little further up the way
And Sellers brothers had a farm, they're pulling peas today.

They called the brothers Frank and Ted, both were hard working men
Ted walked so very quickly, the Top Club his local den.

"Any rags or bones and rabbit skin?", you hear Charlie Shaw's loud shout
He took no man made fibres - they had not then come out.

Who remembers Toulson's lorry, with hissing steam and glowing coals?
Replaced to-day, I bet, no doubt, with a big long shiny Rolls.

I'm feeling just like Marley's ghost, meandering in the past
More characters must I bring to you, while the seance seems to last.

There's Jackie Boulds on Racca Green, a delightful little chap
Do you remember Edward Dey?, you could tell him by his cap.

Knock! Knock! that's Luther Bramham, delivering letters in our street
You could tell him from a mile away, when you heard his great big feet.

Legger Sweeting known by everyone, and when people of him talk
They tell you it's no fairytale, he walked all the way from York.

You may say that's nothing special, he could stop and have some beers
But that would not be possible, when walking home some steers.

If you think this was speculation, or merely idle talk
I bet you daren't try walk a cow, on the motorway from York.

"Tha's a bigger liar than Stenton", it could be true maybe
But why one lie be bigger than the next?, that's a mystery to me.

Suddenly I'm back at school, Wilf Hollingworth do I see
That's his wife, they call her Mabel, both of them taught me.

Alan Billbrough, Miss Dodson, two I readily recall
Sammy White and Miss Dot Wilson, you'll have memories of them all.

John Willy Coward and Proddy France, and if your memory's vague
Mrs. MacMichael, Miss Fleming, and good old Daddy Haigh.

Violet Godley, Oliver Barton, Headmasters Morris, Tredgold, Luke
If there are any I've forgot, we'll put them in another book.

Mr. Egerton, the Vicar, called in at school today
With a load of pears and apples, he's giving them away.

The Vicarage had an orchard then, was this his kind of way
Of saying, "Please don't steal them!", I think some did obey.

Up to the quarry after school, our local troglodyte to see
That means living in a cave, to the likes of me and thee.

The troglodyte was Buller Wilde, with long hair and ginger beard
A really kind of harmless chap, and not one to be feared.

A tough guy that man must have been, to survive the wintry weather
But after years of imposition, his skin would be like leather.

I heard of him last in Northgate Lodge, the Workhouse was the name
A kind of local hostel, for the old, infirm and lame.

The Bankwalker starts his daily trek, the canal was his domain
In it his only son was drowned, to him that caused much pain.

Boxing tonight at Ponte baths - my brothers on the bill
His opponent is a chap from Leeds, he really got a pill.

The fight was over quickly, a knockout in one round
The crowd they fetched the roof down, when that Leeds lad hit the ground.

I think Chick Duggan topped the bill, my word, that chap could box!
And if my memory serves me right, he fought a bloke called Charlie Knox.

Local boxers were a plenty, it's not quite so today
George Hinchcliffe, Tommy Garner, and the brothers they called Shay.

Bill Johnstone, Harry Barrett, that man had special skill
The world was that man's oyster, if he'd only had the will.

Having only just awoken, and in a sort of trance
My memory once again takes charge, and leads me to a dance.

The Town Hall is the setting, a real high spot in my life
It was there that, probably like you, I, for the first time, met my wife.

Lots of you I'd like to bet, have gone and done the same
And danced to Harry Barrett's band, as you played the mating game.

And I hope, like me, you've no regrets, and had a happy life
Weathering the good times and the bad, with your husband or your wife.

My memory's grip is tightening, it just will not let me go
How nicknames originated, that's what I want to know.

Magic Charlesworth's wicket keeping skill, earned him his name, no bother!
But from where do we get Shewdy, the nickname of his brother?

Pongo Martin, Ruffer Sellers, Bogey Lightfoot, Chinky Swales
Slasher Towell, Bolo Tranmer, Killer Kemp, as hard as nails.

Coogan Rhodes and Wablo, Dodger Haigh, then Whacker Scott
Tiffy Hodgson, Lashings Askins, Slogger Wild, that's not the lot!

Yanks Whitwell, Tommy Dreadnought, Blood Pickersgill and Scuffer Scholes
Palmy Wilson, Jabber Johnstone, and still the memory rolls.

Rabbit Gravy, Tiger Watson, Cubby Carter, Banjo Brown
Boots Shaw and Vinegar Winterbottom, the tallest man in town.

Bob Bunks and Benny Chopsticks, the list it must end soon
Not forgetting Kiddy Lightowler, Wire Hughes and Shango Moon.

I think we should a parchment scribe, a really worthy cause
To keep alive such nicknames, as Yawnucks Tomlinson and Twistler Vause.

Yawnucks wore a monocle, to decorate his eye
I wonder what the kids would think, if today he passed them by.

A pork pie now from Morris Bros., so tasty, what a treat
Full of rich warm gravy, and real, lean, scrumptious meat.

A pint of beer to wash it down, in the Commercial Inn among the racket
I don't know why, but now its name, has been changed to the Steam Packet.

Now for a stroll to Shepherd's Bridge, just to stop and have a chat
With a chap called Muckboat Johnstone, who wore a big top hat.

Sometimes with a hose pipe, the road he used to spray
Outside John Braim's the butcher's shop, to keep the dust at bay.

We feature entertainment next, and I'm very sad to say
Some have had to leave this life, but some are with us still today.

One mouth organ virtuoso, whom I remember well
Used to play an overture, from Rossini's William Tell.

Challo was that person, and him you're sure to know
We hear of him no longer, to Australia he did go.

Harold Radley's playing, at the Roper Arms tonight
A pianoforte genius, his performance a delight.

Joannie Smith, the Knottla Nightingale, her voice it used to thrill
You'll know her better as the wife, of Town Hall stalwart, Arthur Gill.

Fred Brookes, Len Warne, Jim Warrington, all pianists of worthy note
And Jarve, he tickled the ivories, in the Lime Keel and The Boat.

Jenny Schofield had a lovely voice, that no-one can deny
Albert Lloyd and Banker Sykes, sang for us in days gone by.

Both Thomas and Fred Turpin, a tidy song could render
They were at their very best, after being on a bender.

My cousin, little Georgie Daw, the place by storm he took
When singing all about his wife, and her great big cookery book.

The shopping I set out to do, for another time must wait
Wiffy Brooks is about to sing, "Sitting on a five barred gate"

Benny Braim I well remember, when walking down Aire Street
That chap was shod in wooden clogs, with no socks upon his feet.

Sally Jackson had the Bay Horse Inn, there we'll spend a little while
You can wager you'll be greeted, with a friendly, charming smile.

A very friendly person she, with a kind and sympathetic manner
And as a bonus, with your pint, she'd play the old Joanna.

The foundry's started casting, you could tell that by the smell
No smoke control in those days, probably just as well.

No ear plugs, masks or goggles, to help protect your health
You were only just considered, as someone to make wealth.

Glassworks, quarries, foundries, gas works - weren't we such a busy town?
Most now been made redundant, a fancy name for 'shutting down'.

They say when one door opens, another opens up
If that means more employment, we've been sold a bloody pup.

The King's Mills wheels stopped turning, since when, I just can't say
If you know someone with the answer, please let me know some day.

Did the Town Hall have a clock?, many times I've heard that question
I don't know anybody, whom I could really care to mention.

Most certainly it's got one now, in the dark you see it glow
Who have we got to thank for that?, I give you Arthur Gill and Co.

The Palace is deserted, what changes it has seen
Since Percy Turpin was the orchestra, to the silent silver screen.

A rumour's circulating town, and if it's truthful what they say
At G. T. Smiths tomorrow, they're giving groceries away!

But a certain criteria first of all you must fulfill, 
and if you can't, I bet you did not bother
You must be 80 years of age and accompanied by your mother!

Potato harvest time's arrived - we called it 'tatie scratting'
My Aunty Flo was good at that, she was tough as coco matting.

She used to bring big roasters home, they must have weighed a ton
"More potatoes she will have than me", said the farmer, "when she's done!"

It's my way of trying to ask you, try not your past to sever
For men may come and men may go, but memories last forever.

An apology to Lord Tenyson, brings to an end this book
As I pen a little parody, on his famous poem 'The Brook'.

The Memorable Awakening of Rip Van Frankle

Written by Frank Webster Chambers
Edited by Carey J. Chambers
April 1996

Reproduced here with the kind permission of Carey Chambers
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