Open Writing

I always look upon September 1965 as one of the main changing points of my life.

Our second son, David, was born, and during the same week I started a new career as an Assistant Lecturer Grade B at Salford College of Technology. The new Ford Anglia worked overtime, travelling to and from Salford every weekend until we bought a modern semi-detached house in Sale, Cheshire. For the first time in our lives, we had a house with a fridge and a telephone - which this time, we didn't remove.

After industry, working in a College was a completely new experience. The work was new, interesting and challenging, which compensated for the long hours and hard work. A new college was being built about 800 yards away, but until it opened, classrooms were at a premium. We used 17 different annexes. These included old schools, offices, mills and churches and I remember conducting one of my first lessons from the pulpit of a redundant Seamen's Mission!

My boss and colleague was called Irvine Denny. Working together we taught on a variety of existing courses and visited industry and commerce to recruit students for the following year. We must have been too successful because in September 1966 the college couldn't cope with the numbers. Additional part time staff had to be appointed. Another colleague in the Department was a young lecturer named G.M. Rowarth. Many years later he became Principal of Newcastle College of Arts and Technology.

Salford, the town on which the famous TV series Coronation Street is based, was a depressed and troublesome area during the 1960's. This was evidenced one night when I returned to where I had parked the Ford Anglia in the morning and found it missing, presumed stolen! Despondently I informed the police and had to use public transport to get home and to go to college the next morning. Amazingly, the police rang the college the next day to say the car had been found undamaged and would I collect it as soon as possible.

On examining the vehicle, I found the only item missing was the spare wheel. The thief must have lifted a box of books and a set of second hand golf clubs out of the boot, stolen the spare wheel and then put the books and golf clubs back in the boot! When I reported this to the mature constable on duty at the desk, he retorted, "Aye, somebody else has had a puncture - they don't bother repairing them round her, they just 'nick' another spare wheel."

A few months later I had another adventure with the car and the police. I was attending a weekend conference at the University of Leicester and not having been to the city before, decided to explore the city centre on the Saturday night. Without thinking, I parked the car and went for a stroll around the crowded town centre.

It was about two hours later when I returned to where I thought I had parked the car, only to find no Ford Anglia there. I searched the nearby streets and eventually reported it stolen to the police. Their first question was, "Where did you park it?"

Embarrassingly I replied, "I'm not sure."

I recall the Desk Sergeant looking to the sky and saying, "Sit yourself down, have a cup of tea and when the crowds have cleared, we'll give you a run around the nearby area."

So, well after midnight, I got in a police car to do a systematic sweep of the centre of Leicester, and needless to say, after a few minutes we found the Ford Anglia exactly where I had left it. Was my face red!

Living in Sale, only ten miles away, was a complete contrast to working in Salford. One was in Cheshire, the other in Lancashire and the difference was remarkable. Also, we found we had moved into the middle of the so-called 'swinging sixties'.

This was evident when we visited Manchester for our first evening out. The number of young people was amazing and the length of the females' skirts was another story! The swinging sixties seemed to have reached Manchester before the Northeast. About this time George Best, the famous Manchester United and Ireland footballer, opened a boutique in Sale and the town was plagued with crowds of young teeny-boppers in mini skirts. It was also the age of the famous Beatles, Mods and Rockers and fights on the beaches during holiday weekends.

Few people in England expect snow drifts in April. However when we attempted to attend Jimmy McDowell's wedding on Tyneside in early April 1966, we spent several hours stuck in our car on the Pennines because of the snow.

It all started one Friday night after work. It was dry when we left Sale but raining heavily as we drove through Manchester. This was before the M62 motorway had opened. The rain had turned to sleet by Oldham and to snow as we started to climb the hills. As we neared the village of Delph, the traffic slowed and then suddenly stopped. We waited and waited as the snow got deeper by the minute.

Urgent action was required if we were not to spend the night stranded on the bleak moors with two small children. We couldn't turn round because of stationary traffic trying to go the other way. However, some cars ahead of us were trying to escape via a valley road to the right, signposted Uppermill. I decided to join them. After a tense, long journey via Ashton-under-Lyne, we eventually arrived back in Sale just as the pubs were coming out. Our neighbours refused to believe cars were stuck in snow drifts less that twenty-five miles away.

We never made it to Jimmy and his bride's wedding, but sent a telegram apologising for our absence due to snow. On a dry, sunny Saturday on Tyneside, I'm told it took some believing!