Bentley and Arksey as an Outsider - Part Five

The Coliseum Cinema, Bentley

Mike's Memories

Presenting the fifth part of Mike Hoyland's wonderful account of growing up in the Bentley area in the 1950's and 1960's.

For part four go to Bentley and Arksey as an Outsider - Part Four.

For part one go to Bentley and Arksey as an Outsider - Part One.

Contents Of Part Five

• Cornerstones
• Saturday Matinees At The Colla
• 'Next Please'
• Ice Cream Van Man
• Bentley Park Fun
• It's A Dog's Life
• Traffic And Trains
• An Impromptu Performance
• Golden Summers At The Greenhill

Cornerstones

I have chosen the word ‘cornerstones’ to represent some of those aspects of our lives which were familiar, even intimate, and were felt to be permanent. In time many of them would disappear or evolve to satisfy new demands.

Saturday Matinees At The Colla

The Coliseum, or Colla, as we knew it was one such cornerstone. It also carried more derogatory names such as the “Bug Hut” or “Flea Pit”, no explanation needed. Showing films throughout the week it was well supported by all age groups.

My first visits as a youngster were with my Dad. We went to watch films such as Tarzan and Moby Dick. It was a thrill to sit with him at the back, or to be perched on the back partition as he stood alongside some of his mates smoking and commenting on the film. The smoke drifting though the film-projector beam was sometimes more fascinating than the film itself.

Then there were the Saturday Matinees. I can’t remember what year I was allowed to go alone, however from that point onwards I was addicted. Daft as it sounds, 2/-, or 10p, did the lot. It paid for a visit to Jacguards on the High Street for a modest number of sweets or a gamble on a Lucky Bag.  I also recall supplementing my sweets one day by spending two farthings I had found in my Grandma’s button tin to buy two Black-Jacks.

6d was the entrance fee to the Colla, and 4d for a bag of Nibbits or Plain Crisps at the intermission. Not quite plain since there was the dastardly blue bag of salt embedded somewhere in the crisps. Finding it in the darkness of a cinema whilst engrossed in the film was impossible. If you did find it and use it, you could never guarantee that there wasn’t a second one lurking in there which would find its way into your mouth with the next handful of crisps and ruin the whole taste experience. Yes, the bags of crisps were big enough to last more than a few seconds in those days.

The serialization of Flash Gordon was the main feature. I just loved the spacecraft.

Click image for video clip

An intermission and a couple of cartoons followed by another film made my weekends. Popeye was always my favourite, a little bizarre perhaps?

Click image to view cartoon

This blissful escapism was destroyed when the “responsibility” of primary school football took precedence on a Saturday morning.

‘Next Please’

Opposite the Colla was the Doctor’s Surgery. It was housed in a small, single-storey, red-brick building with a side door and a little window for the reception. Inside, there were benches around the side of a square room and a couple in the middle. I cannot remember ever going there when it wasn’t full. Being a child, everyone was a thousand years older than me. The banter was deafening, with plenty of smoking, laughter and coughing, oh and comparing illnesses. In those days smoking was allowed in the waiting room. The Doctors would also talk and smoke with their patients in the surgery.

On entry to the waiting room, the protocol was to ask who in the room was the last patient waiting to see the same Doctor as you. You would duly wait for them to be seen before awaiting your turn. The next patient was requested by the relevant Doctor pressing a button on his desk which caused a very strange gadget on the wall of the waiting room to vibrate. There was one for each Doctor. I have since found out that there was a similar device used in wealthier homes to summon servants.

This process was written into legend when a group of families from Bentley flew to Majorca in the late 60’s. When the seat-belt light came on in the aircraft with its customary bong, one of the elders of the party was heard to say “Who’s next for Dr McKirdy”. How I miss the Northern humour.

Ice Cream Van Man

Also in Bentley, along Church Street, toward the Bentley railway crossings was Masarella’s ice-cream depot. It was conveniently situated opposite a dairy. From there, on a daily basis, come rain or shine, ice-cream vans would set off for all corners of Doncaster and district. Sometimes further. There would also be caravans selling ice-cream which were towed by an ice-cream van to a suitable location and left to sell their wares until evening.

My favourite was the ice-cream bike which was a bulky and unruly tricycle with one wheel at the back and a big cold-box at the front with two wheels, one on either side. The ice-cream was kept cold with dry-ice (lumps of solid carbon dioxide). To be able to peddle this beast you needed thighs like a rickshaw driver! 

In the mid sixties, after pea-picking became exclusive to a closed group, I sought summer employment at Masarellas. On my first day I was shipped in the back of an ice-cream van, with others, to York races and wandered around the Silver Ring with a tray of ice-creams and made a fortune. I remember a Geordie bloke, well the worse for drink, asking me “Have you got any ice-cream left”. I politely answered “Yes” to which he said “Serves you right for bringing out so many”, much to the amusement of his mates.

Massarellas ice cream vans

In his defense, he felt guilty at seeing my crestfallen face so he bought a round of ice-creams for his group. Needless to say I overcharged him.

I went home with 30/- for one day’s pay, not bad for a 14 year-old in 1964. Sadly, it was all in copper, weighed a ton, and took me days to offload.

Not every day was as profitable. I was shipped in a caravan to Hexthorpe Flatts one cold, late summer’s day. I sold nothing and, since my flask broke, ended up eating a couple of lollies and wafers to alleviate the hunger and boredom of eight hours with no customers, nor any young ladies to chat to. Andrew Masarella was feeling charitable when he collected me that day so he let me have the basic 10/- wages as I shivered my way home. Most of that went to my Mam to replace the broken flask!

Bentley Park Fun

Back along Church Street, and at the far end of Cooke Street was the centre of Bentley for many of us; the park. The playground housed some excellent swings and roundabouts which would have Health and Safety officials of today quaking in their shoes.

Bentley Park and Pavillion

There was an ornate lily pond, complete with a rocky fountain at its centre, you could see goldfish and all sorts of critters when you laid on your tummy and peered over the edge. It was situated at the edge of the tarmac play area. On hot days kids would splash around in it until the parkie came and “suggested” it was not allowed. The shrubs around the pond then provided cover for cowboy, war or jungle games.

There were sandpits and tennis courts, bowling greens and a paddling pool, bandstand and more tennis courts, trees to climb, soft tarmac and grass to run across; and the magnificent pavilion.

Beyond there was a shelter overlooking the football pitch. The shelter was used by the football teams as a changing room and a meeting area for teenagers. Enough said.

In the 60’s, near the Park Road end, there was a superb little road system set up for children to learn cycling proficiency. Complete with cross-roads, white lines and the lot.

Our leaders were very forward thinking back then. As they also appear to be now with the re-generation of the park. Well done whoever is responsible you have my complete and utter support.

Along the Askern Road side of the park ran the dike. I have seen it recently and it looks to be a trickle of its former self. To us it was the Amazon, and it filled our wellies should we venture too far into its depths. We caught minnows, stickle-backs, the occasional drenching, and colds whilst exploring. Rats and voles were also spotted. Occasionally, fish further up the food chain were spotted but we were never too sure what they were.

The park was not just a play area for children; it was a social, meeting, gathering, courting and well-being area for all generations. Born out of the Victorian imagination it was the place to go for many. Teenagers loved it. It was like a magnet on a warm day. Parents loved it. It made their children happy. Their children loved it. If the swings got boring, there was always the prospect of an ice-cream from the ice-cream van or Shipstones on the corner of Cooke Street and Askern Road.

It’s A Dog’s Life 

In my mind I cannot think of Bentley Park without associating it with Playfairs Corner; the most devious collection of junctions you could ever imagine. I suspect that some establishment of the past, which was located on the corner, carried the name of Playfairs.

It was also the site of some confusion when the trolley buses were negotiating that turning; and indeed the turning from Arksey Lane into the Avenue, then into Victoria Road, and then back down Askern Road to the junction at Playfair’s Corner. If the driver was a bit too nimble going around the corner, the overhead connector from the bus to the power cable, would swing loose. Inevitably, the bus would come to a standstill. The driver then had to pull out from the chassis of the bus a long bamboo cane with a hook at the end. Using this he would reconnect the connector with the overhead power cables. All good fun, unless you had to be somewhere on time.

Trolleybus at Playfair's Corner

Another hazard in Bentley, unless you were an owner and used to them, were the dogs. Not like today’s pedigrees or special mixed breeds; these were the result of a natural “bonding” in the streets.  Heinz 57 they were called. Many homes had dogs. Without the traffic, most dogs were allowed “out” and were called back by a whistle or a call, or they came back of their own accord when hunger overcame their ability to empty bins unnoticed.

More often than not, the dogs would lie on the pavement outside their house and chase any car or cyclist who had the audacity to invade their space. Occasionally, in the heat of a chase, a dog would broach another dog’s space and so on, down the road. All hell would break loose with dogs barking and fighting and owners leaping into the fray to pull their dog out.

It seemed to be accepted as part of life. As was the time when a neighbour’s dog wandered into my Grandma’s kitchen and made off with the Sunday roast. Kitchen theft by dogs was not an uncommon event.

Traffic And Trains

Dogs chasing cars down the Avenue came to a halt in the late 50’s as did riding trolleys or spinning down the road inside tractor tyres. The Coal Wharf was closed so instead of shipping coal to the Coal Wharf for distribution, along a short railway line, the pit hired big wagons to drive it to the coal wharf for distribution and also to the newly built Thorpe Marsh power station directly. The big trucks rumbled down the Avenue relentlessly.

At an earlier time, the shale from Tollbar Tip was being used as foundations for the Thorpe Marsh power station. Big trucks called Thames Traders were filled up at the back of Tollbar Tip; they then went across Tilts Crossing and through Arksey to Thorpe Marsh; with once again a relentless onslaught of vehicles.

Building Thorpe Marsh Power Station.
Photo courtesy of Ann Singleton

The building of the power station did have a direct benefit for the kids of Bentley and Arksey. Its building resulted in the excavation of a big rectangular pond, which still exists, where many of us tried out our first strokes of swimming and cut our feet on the glass or barbed wire in the muddy shallows. It stands to the left, as the road from Arksey rises to cross the Don. Why didn’t we just pay 6d and have a splash in the new or old baths? I like the way that stuff was labeled new or old and the labels are still there umpteen years later.

Any trips beyond Arksey, either by bike or walking, would bring us back to Bentley either across the marsh toward the cinder track or down the lane alongside the Willowgarth. Isn’t the Willowgarth an evocative and haunting name? Either way, both routes took us across the main Doncaster to York line.

For all our recklessness in the face of any other danger, the railway line commanded respect. There was always someone would insist that we should take care crossing the lines either at the crossings near the Willowgarth or the steps connecting to the cinder track. We were only children, chaotic and reckless, but we knew when to be sensible.

One day when we were train spotting at the steps at the end of the cinder track a lad called Ken dropped his back door key on the wooden steps without realizing his loss. One of the other lads sneaked it onto the line and the next train ran over it and flattened it beyond usefulness. He was a few years older than us and saw the funny side and took it well. He was a good lad. However, the return of a flattened key to his parents did not go down so well! That was the only time I recall anyone getting hurt from playing near the lines.

An Impromptu Performance

Where the road from the Willowgarth into Arksey intersects with the lane toward the railway line, I recall a collection of bungalows on the bend. There was a community centre in the middle. I am taking a liberty by jumping a decade and taking you to a time when my summer job was cutting grass for the Bentley with Arksey Urban District Council (BUDC), in 1969. Our grass-cutting A-Team was a group of four students complete with very early rotary mowers and strimmers.

Arksey Community Centre

It was a hot day and we decided that we would step up the tempo of the mowers and cut the grass as quickly as possible, leaving maximum time to sneak off to the Arksey Plough for a few brews.

During early afternoon we were invited to wait in the bungalow community centre until our truck arrived to take workers and mowers back to base. In the centre was a piano. One of my friends was pretty good on the piano and started with a few bars of “Bridge Over troubled Water”. I sang along and once the John Smiths of 10 minutes earlier gave me confidence let loose with a full-blooded rendition. All the lads joined in not realizing that the resident pensioners were coming through the door to enjoy their afternoon’s bingo session.

As we came to the crescendo and finished, all crowded around the pianist and feeling reasonably good about what we had just sung, we were met with cheers and rounds of applause from behind. When we looked behind us there was a collection of lovely, elderly people applauding us for our song. They insisted we did it again. It was a moment of gold. By the way the last I heard of the pianist was that he ended up playing keyboards for bands in California.

Golden Summers At The Greenhill

Another golden place in memories is the Greenhill (Roundabout Moat), the small pond toward the end of the lane from the Willowgarth to the railway crossing. There was an island with a surrounding moat and path accessed either from the Arksey side of the cinder track or the lane down by the Willowgarth. Crystal clear water, full of minnows, sticklebacks, newts and every form of wildlife you could think of. On a summer’s day it was really a very special place. The air thick with pollen, dragonflies and other insects and the strong scent of wild flowers released when you walked through the long grass.

Round About Moat (Greenhill)

We took it for granted back then as part of the furniture of our lives; same as the Willowgarth; permanent, unchanging. I will go back there to see and taste the world to see if I or it has changed. I will also visit the old folks’ home at the end of the road now that I qualify by age for entry.

__________

Mike Hoyland 2014

For part six go to Bentley and Arksey as an Outsider - Part Six.



Edited by Alison Vainlo 2014, updated 2020.