Bentley and Arksey as an Outsider - Part Two

Back yards near Bentley Pit.
Photo courtesy of Colin Hardisty

Mike's Memories

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

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

Contents Of Part Two

• Paper Rounds And 'The Seat'
• Avenue Adventures
• Paper Rounds
• Tarzan Swings And Orange Water
• The Seat

Paper Rounds And 'The Seat'

What is to follow is written from my first experiences of Bentley as a youngster but living in Scawthorpe from about 8 to 12 years old (1958 to 1962). There will be other reflections to follow which may overlap a little. Reminiscences and nostalgia are never clean cut nor in a straight line.

Most of my family still lived in Bentley when we moved from Chapel Street in Bentley to Petersgate in Scawthorpe. In fact you could have thrown a brick in any direction from Playfairs Corner and you would have probably hit one of the Griffins, my Mother’s side of the family. The Hoyland side of the family, my father’s, lived out at Wheatley. You would have had to have a good throwing arm to hit them.

 Avenue Adventures

In those early years in Scawthorpe, I had a real life hero in the form of my Mother's youngest brother, Gary (Gaz) Griffin, from The Avenue in Bentley. Although technically my uncle, he was only 4 years older than me so we were raised more like brothers. As both my Mam and Dad worked, I often spent most of my early weekends and school holidays down The Avenue, in Bentley, staying with my Grandparents and enjoying the danger and excitement of knocking around with Gary and his friends who were much older than me and crazily adventurous.

Junction of The Avenue and Arksey Lane

Most of our “adventures” took place outdoors, in the streets, the colliery tips and open countryside beyond Arksey. There was never any direct supervision but grown-ups i.e. those who had left school and older, were always ready to correct us should we be treading a fine line. I am not saying that they were always listened to, their wisdom was often sometimes more suspect than our parents.

School leavers became adults very quickly through going straight from school and into a job. Their teenage rebellion thwarted by older workmates who soon straightened them out much to the relief of their parents. These new adults held some authority over the younger kids by being part of the “older” generation. They left school, started wearing adult style clothes and behaved, to some extent, like young adults. The 50’s, however, was the birth-place of a new generation of teenagers, ahead of my generation who had a separate identity from kids or adults.

Most of my Bentley adventures started when I was about 8 years old and Gary was 12 and had started at Bentley High Street, Secondary Modern School. He had a dog, a ginger lurcher called Tim, who went everywhere with us. Occasionally the dog’s mates would join us too.

We would leave the house in the morning with some coin(s) and maybe a few bits and bobs to munch on during the day. If you had the last drink of the luke warm water in the lemonade bottle you always had to contend with the bits of sandwich floating about which had been left by the previous drinkers in the queue! If hunger prevailed mid-day, we headed home, or someone else’s parents stuck a sandwich and a drink of tea in our hands or a convenient chippy or shop provided for our needs. At some point, usually before it got dark, we would head home for tea which was “gobbled” down so that we could get back out on the street for the night activities. It was an endless run of excitement which always had an edge to it.

Adventure for us took two forms, either with or without the dogs. If we had the dogs with us it was hunting/poaching, if we didn’t it could be a whole range of stuff. The act of hunting/poaching with dogs, ferrets and guns has been a long tradition in mining communities. It became a necessity during the wars when meat was scarce due to rationing. I am surprised there was any wild life left over the fields surrounding Arksey and Bentley after the Second World War!

Paper Rounds

The day started early with getting the paper round done. We collected the papers from Shepherds at the Avenue/Arksey Lane intersection. The morning at Shepherds was mayhem with all the bikes and boys; newspapers being bundled into large canvas shoulder bags ready for dispatch. Mr Shepherd and Mrs White frantically folding papers and magazines inside each other and penciling the house number in the top right hand corner. We had this well planned system through which we could complete Gary’s round in about 20 minutes. His round covered the Victoria Road end of the Avenue and surrounding Streets all the way to the pit gates.

The daily papers

I think he earned something like 10/- for the morning round and 5/- for the evening round. He was also expected to collect the “paper-money” from the customers on a Friday evening and/or Saturday morning. That was often very odd. Occasionally people were very generous and gave tips. On other occasions we would have to listen to an adult explaining apologetically to a teenager, sometimes through the letterbox, why they were unable to pay their bill this particular week; it was a different world.

Tarzan Swings And Orange Water

After the paper-round, with the day to ourselves it was then what to do, where to go and who else is kicking about to join in. Very rarely was there nothing to do.

At the intersection of the Avenue, Elm Crescent and Victoria Road was a wood which we knew as the Little Wood. This distinguished it from the much more interesting Daw Wood, between Victoria Road and the pit, which was often referred to as the Big Wood. The Little Wood had two separate dykes on its boundaries, which merged together and ran away under the Coal Warf supply line to who knows where. We never did work that one out. The dyke running from the pit left a stain of orange, probably (hopefully) ferrous deposit on the banks and bed whereas the other bore a strong resemblance to a small stream and often held minnows and sticklebacks to prove its purity. There were a good number of mature specimen trees with high branches spanning the streams which made them prime targets for Tarzan swings!

A 'Tarzan' Swing

A good swing hung down directly above the straight dyke. Some hefty rope was used which had been “discovered” or “liberated” from the Colliery Works or slag heap. Then some older boy would defy death to suspend it from a branch, 30 feet high at least.

Swinging was exhilarating to say the least. It was not short of danger, especially when the rope snagged in one of the lower branches and then loosened itself with a bump whilst you were in mid-swing. If you were not strong enough this could give a sufficient jolt to break your grip and give you an inelegant shower in the Red Ditch. That’s why I hope it was ferrous and not some poisonous by-product which may catch me out when I am old. Hang on I am old …..

Each new swing became a social centre for a few days, attracting different groups of teenagers. Swinging abilities varied immensely as you can imagine. The top-dogs completed the circuit one-handed whilst smoking a cigarette, demonstrating their youthful strength to the young ladies on the dyke edge. The young ladies would also join in by swinging with encouragement from the boys, of course.

Eventually the swing would lose its novelty to the teenagers as they moved on to some other fad. We youngsters would move in to adopt it as our own for a few days but without the energy of the teenagers, it soon lost its novelty for us and we would also move on.

The Seat

On the corner of the Little Wood between The Avenue and Elm Crescent, at some point in the late 60’s or early 70’s, there was a seat erected. This became an institution for all generations. Youngsters would gather around there at odd times in the day but were soon moved on when some of the elderly retired miners and workers came to reminisce, compare betting tips, take stock of who might have passed away since they last met and generally put the world to rights.

I have no idea where the photo (below) came from nor who took it, but it brings tears to my eyes when I see it. I believe that it was taken in the early to mid 1970’s.

The Seat

My Grandad, Harry Griffin, is the gentleman sporting the flat cap at the left hand end of the seat. I know of a couple of names of his friends but I cannot recall who they are on the seat. I would welcome any guidance as to who else is sitting on the seat with my Grandad.

Over my Grandad’s right shoulder, in the photograph, I think you can just make out the Union Box, further down The Avenue toward the pit gates. The pit tips are in the background. To the front is what we knew as the Little Tip. Overshadowing it in the distance is, you guessed it, the Big Tip. This was also known as Tollbar Tip or the Red Tip since it was primarily made up of red shale and was closer to Tollbar than Bentley.

A second photo of the seat

I would sometimes sit with my Grandad and his friends for a while during my visits. Not that I could contribute anything to the conversation but it was a fine feeling sitting amongst these men listening to their memories, pit-talk, betting tips and what turns were on at the Comrades. Conversation was probably toned down a little for my benefit.

Another photo of the seat

I recall the occasional drifting into joke-telling, some of which I did not understand, others of which I was prevented from hearing by being sent on some unnecessary errand. One of my Grandad’s favourites, which would get him first of all laughing, then coughing, then almost choking, due to his Emphysema, went as follows : “Old Albert came into t’ Comrades today and asked me if I wanted to buy a cat. I said “Is it a tom?” He says “No it’s outside in me saddle-bag””

I still chuckle even now ….

All the men looked forward to these daily and regular gatherings which, on a fine day, would be broken into shifts covering the whole day. 

After breakfast my Grandad would walk to the front gate, mug of tea in hand, Woodbines and matches in the other. He would look toward the seat and, if it was empty, he would lean on the gate smoking waiting for one of his mates to show up. I got the impression that they, or their wives, would be snooping out of their windows across the road and would pass on the news that my Grandad was out. Pretty soon a small procession of men would slowly head towards the seat and any kids who were around would disperse to get up to no good.

I think that now there is some sort of home on the Little Wood and the seat appears to be long gone. As are most, if not all, of The Seat’s residents. Rest in Peace.

______ 

This further shot of the seat was sent in by Tracey Peacock in 2020 and probably shows some of the same gentlemen as in those supplied by Mike Hoyland. Tracey was able to provide a couple of names for her photo - third left is Jim Peacock, and Mr Chipman is on the far right.

_______

Mike Hoyland 2014

For part three go to Bentley and Arksey as an Outsider - Part Three.

Edited by Alison Vainlo 2014, updated 2020.