Open Writing

Looking up from the town, which lies in a valley and is compact and a convenient shopping centre, we saw well-wooded hills and we always thought that for a small manufacturing town Huddersfield had many good points. In particular it was easy to take a long tram drive in various directions and so come to either wooded or moorland country, where as we grew older we spent long days roaming and picnicking with our nurse.

There were many walks nearer to hand, and from Edgerton we could run at once into Clayton Fields, and walk practically all the way along paths or lanes, touching the road but seldom. This was delightful, especially as not too far away was a small but splendid oak wood, where we gathered acorns in season; then wandering on, we came to Farmer Hayes'. We all knew him and paused sometimes for a chat, and to pat his two sheep dogs which rushed out barking their welcome. There were pigs to inspect, and in the fields around we often watched the fluffy, yellow chicks in their pens, and further down the ducklings waddling away from us with a great quack-quack. A stream ran for quite some way and we spent happy hours jumping from bank to bank, or paddling, or rolling down the hill on the far side.

Behind Farmer Hayes' was Grimscar Wood, pleasant with its trees and wandering paths. Sometimes I sat on a great log to pause, to look and to dream, delighting in the sunlight dappling through the old trees, the haze of bluebells on the banks, the tall bulrushes so much higher than myself, and one small square, fenced off, where we were forbidden to enter, for there the ground was sinking into a disused coal mine. This added a spice of mystery and danger to the wood, just right to the child brought up on fairy stories.

If we climbed up the main path, past clouds of garlic throwing off its pungent smell, through a gate and across a road, we entered by another wooden gate the second part of the wood. I forget how many steps we had to climb to the top, somewhere near fifty or seventy I believe, and then we came at last to the Fixby Golf Club, where we often had tea with our parents.

As each child was born, immediately its name would be entered as a non-playing member. The Club is now called the Huddersfield Golf Club and attained championship standard long ago.

We enjoyed running about on the immense lawn facing the hall, posing for snapshots in front of the rhododendron bushes. Often we would wend our way across a bridge over a moat (long since emptied to our regret) and into the rough bordering the fairway, looking for golf balls, our bare legs stinging with cuts from the springy tufts of grass.

Another day we would take a tram and then walk up to Castle Hill where a monument had been erected, in the shape of a tower, to commemorate the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria.

This tower was high, and winding steps, interspersed with little windows to peer out from, led to the top, from where we could enjoy a magnificent view of valleys and hills.

We returned home a different way, through Penny Spring Woods, where sometimes we caught a toad, or a frog, carefully bringing it home, hopefully placing it in the garden and watching it with interest, but alas! it soon disappeared.

Other woods were called T.P. Woods and were scarifying, dank and dark with a black, still pond. Eventually we were forbidden to go there as they gathered a bad reputation.

Not far away was a locality called Springwood where a narrow iron bridge spanned the railway, and it was fun to go just before a train, especially an express, was due to pass, and to watch it come thundering along and to be enveloped in a clamour of noise and acrid grey smoke. We thought this quite thrilling!

Sometimes, perhaps twice a year, we would join with the aunts and Uncle Jack into two parties, take the tram to Outlane, and there find wagonettes waiting to take us on to the moors to have the famous ham and egg tea at Nont Sarah's. This was quite an expedition. The wagonettes were high carts with large wheels, the seats facing in on either side. The women were shaded and hidden behind thick veils, spotted or patterned, which answered the double purpose of gripping the hat firmly on the head, and at the same time protecting the complexion from wind and sun.

We children rode happily free from such confinement enjoying the novelty of a horse carriage, and later, running and jumping on the uneven moorland, feeling the ripe cotton flowers so wondrously smooth and silky to the touch, or finding our feet unexpectedly drowned in bog, for peat is very plentiful on these moors and the ground treacherous.

At tea time, as we entered the old inn, the appetising smell of the frying ham came to us, and there was still the return journey behind the horses to look forward to.

At Edgerton is a small, private park, which must be kept as open space in perpetuity. It was granted for the use of the gentlemen and their families who resided in Edgerton, and who became members by paying an annual subscription.

It is now a lost, sorry sight, but in our childhood it was tidily kept by a permanent gardener. There were two tennis courts, one at either end, and a beautiful bowling green where Daddy tried his skill at every opportunity. The park played a large part in our youth and there we learned to play tennis. We had picnic teas on the slanting lawn, maddened by the relentless midges. We tried everything, oils and lotions and scents, begging anyone to smoke to gain relief, but nothing seemed to prevent our being covered by the tiny, irritating bites. I have never experienced anywhere else such persistent waves of these small insects.

Doreen and I were friends with Mollie and Barbara Mallinson who lived in a large house in its own grounds, part of which included a paddock. When the haymaking season came round we were occasionally invited to play there and to have tea together. It was fun to rake the hay into a stook, then to lean against it scenting the delicious, warm, sweet smell; or to toss it over one another until it prickled and tickled as it found its way among our clothes. It was part of the hot, summer days one remembers with pleasure.