Bentley and Arksey as an Outsider - Part Three

The Drum

Mike's Memories

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

For part two go to Bentley and Arksey as an Outsider - Part Two.

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

Contents Of Part Three

• Pubs, Clubs and Bentley Pit
• Magical Trips To The Pit
• Playground Pit
• The Pit Bus
• Pubs And Clubs
• Cleethorpes And The Club Trip

Pubs, Clubs And Bentley Pit

Magical Trips To The Pit 

As collieries multiplied and disappeared in response to the fickle nature of demand, Bentley folk felt the full impact of the heartbeat of the pit. A big proportion of people in Bentley worked at the colliery, a neighbouring colliery or one of the many engineering companies, depots and services that supported them. The relationship was so strong that matters affecting the lives of the colliers, good or bad, rippled through the community and all the way out to the shops and farms.

Bentley Pit workers

A big day at the Pit was always the collection of wages on a Friday. When my Dad had to pick up his wages, depending on the shift, either my sister or I would go with him. Out comes the derelict but well-oiled bike, complete with a smaller seat, affixed to the cross-bar. I perched there as we headed over Jossey Hill, through Bentley and either took the park and then through Daw Wood (my favourite route), or Playfairs Corner and then Askern Road, Winnipeg Road or The Avenue and Arksey Lane.

Along the route my Dad would whistle some tunes that I had heard when the radio was playing at home and some tunes from “years gone by” that were distinctly different to the “olden days” that my Grandparents often spoke about. More often than not it was an indistinct whistling which just said he was happy. That was enough for me.

The whole journey to the pit was steeped in magic for me; the magic of expectation. I knew at the end of it there would be much good feeling which acts like sugar to a child. Meetings and greetings, serious faces but much joviality in the pit yard and all the way there. Wages were dispensed through tiny windows in the office wall, after a long and tedious wait in a queue, followed by much debate about the parentage of the government and how much money had been lost in tax. And then there was the climax; a visit to The Pit Canteen.

I loved it. Everyone in there was either serious and joking or joking and joking. Immense voices from giants of men. My Dad, reassuringly holding my hand as the giants smoked their cigarettes, waved their hands and boomed at each other with laughter in their big eyes.

The whole visit was full of men, huge towers and spinning wheels and noises which forced an imprint in your soul to remind you what and where you came from.

The canteen trip was the icing on the cake. Tea, toast, bottle of pop, crisps, occasionally sweets, you name it. My Dad was carrying money and goodwill. With a weekend of leisure ahead and a successful week behind, what child would not benefit from such circumstance? And, look forward to it again in the future.

Playground Pit

As I grew older I started to see the pit and the surrounding tips in a different light; that of a playground. I expect that many of the youngsters in and around Bentley and, in all probability, the kids around Carcroft, Skellow and other colliery villages were no different. Adventure. That word again.

Willows were cut with blunt Cleethorpes bought pen-knives to make bows and arrows which were used by the Apaches to defeat the cavalry, who all had cap guns from the previous birthday or Christmas. Custer’s last stand was re-enacted daily, complete with Davy Crockett hats made out of rabbit fur, the outcome never the same as history.

Dens were built on the slag heap beyond the Union Box which we knew as the Little Tip. Some dens were in trees, some made out of trees, some made out of railway sleepers and some in patches of nettles or bracken. Once they were built, a fire was needed, but how do we hide the smoke from the “pit cops”. The answer was a long tunnel underground so that the smoke comes out away from the den and someone “keeping konk” to let us know if anyone turned up.

Bentley Pit and surrounding land

If enough kids were interested, two dens were built at either end of the little tip and we raided each other’s dens. The anticipation and planning was always more exciting than the actual raids since we all knew that the bigger kids would win. By fair means or foul.

There was also the Big Tip or Red Tip which was the larger one closer to Tollbar. This is where the big kids went so when you were invited along you knew you had made the right of passage. This was mountaineering at its best though I found sliding down the shale slopes in wellies much more fun.

Lengths of discarded conveyer belt were used as sledges to slide down the shale slopes. As many as a dozen kids would clamber aboard a long strip of belt and “hudge” it toward the edge of the steepest drop we could find with our feet. If the shale cooperated and allowed us to slide, the end result was always hair-raising and hilarious and always resulted in a number of cuts and bruises and something to relive and laugh about.

All these activities were always acted out under the threat of being caught by “the pit cops”. Not quite an elite force of armed mercenaries who made it their business to keep the grounds of the colliery secure from a Russian invasion, more a small group of elderly men who wandered around the colliery grounds every now and then to make sure kids were not playing around on the railway lines, stealing coal or trying to shunt wagons by boy-power!

The most classic chase of the time was when we were out over Tollbar Tip with the dogs. Below Tollbar Tip was a large pond where the black silt from washing the coal was allowed to settle. Ridiculously dangerous as a place to explore which is why we were there. On the pit side of the pond, the “pit cops” had surrounded us! The only way out was through the colliery workings. Across the lines and into the buildings we ran, accompanied by our dogs who thought this was great fun. Through a doorway, heading to who knows where and we entered the Pit Head Baths where the miners were showering. A group of lads tearing through the baths, with dogs skidding about on the tiles, all being chased, lead to a great deal of laughter and encouragement from the miners. We did get away but, when he found out, as he always did,  were told off by my Grandad who had more than a little laughter in his eyes.

It was unlikely that you would be captured by the pit cops since they were not hired for their pace. However, since they knew who you were, they would report back and your Dad and/or Grandad may get a dressing down by one of the pit bosses when he got to work. Then there were consequences!

One of my fondest memories was making pea-shooters from lengths of cow parsley stems which grew in abundance in Daw Wood. Hawthorn berries were the ammunition which were also in abundance. Someone had the bright idea one day for us to climb one of the big trees that bordered the approach to the pit on Arthur Street and, hidden by the branches and leaves, shoot at the colliers as they passed below us at shift end.

Nervous at first, we rapidly gained confidence. When a hit was made the collier invariably spun around looking for who had done it. Cursing and blinding and none the wiser because he never thought to look up. Each hit was met with uncontrollable laughter which was suppressed into tears and giggling until we almost fell off the branches.

The climax came when a chap with no hair came past. We all ignored whose turn it was and all let loose at once. He was peppered. Rubbing his head, growling he looked this way and that for someone to kill. Meanwhile we had laughed ourselves into side splitting pain. Quietly of course.

It all ended when we were spotted by a younger miner who scared us to death by starting to climb the tree after us. Dropping from a height that we should not have dropped from we all legged it into Daw Wood to the safety of yet another den at the top of a hawthorn tree through whose branches we had made a thorn-free route to a flat canopy on the top. Safe, secure and well hidden.

Please note that this was good fun and by no means malicious. No miners were injured in these activities and the children involved grew up with rich memories.

The Pit Bus

One of the things that always fascinates me about miners was when they congregated somewhere outside. Eventually, as the conversation progressed, one or more of them would crouch. Others would follow. As a kid I thought that it was good fun to follow suite but soon stood up when my legs began to ache. Once again my Grandad came to the rescue with an explanation: down the pit there isn’t much headroom so most of the time it is easier to crouch than lean over and you get used to it.

I had a lot of conversations with my Grandad and he would often listen as I tried to make him laugh with some of my innocent tales. One day he came out with a classic which has stuck since I have a reputation amongst friends and colleagues for being long winded. As evidenced by these articles. As he sat patiently listening to a tale of a recent fishing expedition he said “Why do you always go round Arksey to get to Bentley?”

Along with having their own ambulance service, The Pit had its own Pit Bus. A red double-decker which travelled through Scawthorpe, along Amersall Road to Jossey Lane and then through Bentley to the pit. I think a small payment was made for the fare, but not much. I rode it a few times with my Dad when I was going to stay with my Grandparents on the Avenue. My most poignant memory of the Pit Bus was when my Dad’s funeral cortege was heading past the Pit Bus stop on the corner of Amersall Road near the Adam and Eve, the colliers at the stop all doffed their flat caps. A seriously tear-jerking moment.

Typical bus of the era

We needed no watches in those days as there was always the pit buzzer giving us a warning for the change of shift and the Cementation siren telling everybody to get out of bed at 7:25 and 7:30 I think.

I have lived in Norwich, Norfolk, on and off since 1969. In all those years I have met a number of people from Donny in Norwich but the most unusual was at a wedding a few years ago. An elderly chap approached me and asked what part of Yorkshire I was from. When I replied Doncaser, his eyes lit up. He was a farm carpenter who had been called up in World War II. Instead of being sent to the front, he was transferred to Bentley Colliery to make use of his skills. He ended up lodging at a house on Arthur Street belonging to Jack Rose, the chap who flitted my family from Bentley to Scawthorpe in the mid 50’s. A small world.

Pubs And Clubs

Closely related to the colliery and the community were the pubs and Working Men’s Clubs. These were many: The Magnet, Druids and Bay Horse are pubs I can remember. The Comrades, Jet, Top Club, the Reform and the Whisper are the clubs I remember in Bentley. Then there were the Yarborough and West End clubs. There were probably others.

The Bay Horse trip, 1952

When I asked my Grandad why the Whisper had such an unusual name, he explained that this was its nickname. Apparently, in previous years, when work and money were scarce, the Whisper was the club favoured by the pit management and deputies. If a collier was looking for some overtime, a trip to the Whisper for a “whisper in the ear” of an appropriate manager supported by a pint of Freeman’s ale, could get results. 

Freeman’s because the recipient wasn’t paying for it! My Grandad always reckoned that Freeman’s was the sweetest beer to drink.

Pubs tended to be used by younger singles, courting and married couples with the Working Men’s Clubs being used by the older generations. This is a sweeping generalization since there was a lot of cross-traffic and a lot of cross-pollination! Enough said.

Public bars in the pubs, and particularly the clubs, were no-go areas for the fairer sex. More out of tradition than discrimination. It gave the men a time and place to “let off steam” with some dedicated drinking and colourful use of the English language.

All the pubs and clubs thrived. Any that failed in the 50’s and 60’s probably failed through mismanagement rather than lack of demand. People had money in their pockets and eagerly supported the drinking and entertainment provided through disco’s, dances, singers, comedians and groups. It was legendary and generally free.

Many acts cut their teeth in the northern pubs and clubs, occasionally appearing in Bentley. I remember Charlie Williams, a very popular comedian in the 70’s, appearing at the Comrades and bringing the house down with jokes which I cannot repeat here due to their being politically incorrect today. He went on to become a national celebrity.

"Ay-up mi 'owd flower", Charlie Williams

Speaking of the Comrades, I remember the “old” Comrades, sited behind the house at the top of The Avenue, which suffered the impact of subsidence, probably from collapsing coal-workings underground. It resulted in the dance floor having a ridge and a slope which led to all sorts of fun late on a Saturday night when the floor was open to dancing. Slow waltzes often became quick and vice versa.

Cleethorpes And The Club Trip

To a child in the 50’s and early 60’s, the most important event of the year was the “club trip”.

Parent’s signed up for their favourite club trips on an annual basis. The Comrades and Scawthorpe club are the only ones I can recall but I suspect that many of the other clubs had similar outings.

Subscriptions were paid throughout the year toward the family fares and pocket money for the kids on the day. For many of us, Cleethorpes was this magical place at the seaside that meant a day of freedom. A day when your parents seemed in a much better mood and there was a lot more money about for ice-cream, rides on the roller coaster in Wonderland, donuts, slot machines and a new toy.

Families gathered at Bentley station and formed a long queue onto Pipering Lane. The train arrived, pulling slowly into the station giving off clouds of steam, a toot or two on the whistle for the kids, and an occasional bonus of some skidding and a few sparks. As we boarded, a committee member would pass a brown envelope to each kid. This contained our passport to happiness for the day; a whole pound note! To relate that to today’s money; it was the equivalent of about eleven pints of beer.

The journey to Cleethorpes was probably a couple of hours but to a child it was an eternity. All the sandwiches had been eaten, flasks of tea had been drunk and kids were getting liberally clipped around the ear or told off as the journey drew to its close. Then one of the adults who had sighted a landmark would come out with something like “Get thee buckets ‘n spades ready” and a wave of anticipation would flood the carriages.

Seaside fun

Cleethorpes never let us down. Our family tended to make base camp near the pier. The kids would have a token splash around in the “sea” and then look to get away and join in the fun to be had on the rides and slots. The teenagers would be eager to get on with chasing the opposite sex and the men equally eager to make their way to one of the local pubs.

Cleethorpes had what has to be the coldest swimming pool I have ever experienced in my life. We tried it once, on a roasting day, paid a fortune to get in, jumped in, screamed, jumped out and never went back!

I went back there a few years ago with my sister and my wife. It was out of season but it still had the same feel to it. Complete with big families troughing fish and chips on the sea front with the mother chastising the youngsters and liberally dishing out “clips around the ear”.

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Mike Hoyland 2014

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



Edited by Alison Vainlo 2014, updated 2020.