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Mike Shaw takes a fresh look at the Colne Valley in Yorkshire, where he was born, grew up and still lives.
This, sadly, is the concluding article in Mike’s Backwords series which has been running in Open Writing for almost three years.
Mike Shaw recalls his film-going debut in a Yorkshire mill village.
…No decent man’s wardrobe used to be complete without a suit.
A best suit, that is. To wear on Sundays, and for christenings, weddings and funerals…
Mike Shaw recalls the days when a man was not a man until he owned suit made by a reputable tailor.
…As a schoolboy I was always oversleeping. Still am, come to think of it. But when I was a lad even a brand new alarm clock failed to rouse me properly. So, if both my parents were out at work, my mother used the phone to make sure I was out of bed on time…
Small wonder that since then Mike Shaw has had a love-hate relationship with the phone.
Mike Shaw recalls the days of SPAM, Cremola and home-made sweets.
…Long before we young lads reached an age where girls dominated our thoughts, spring sunshine heralded the rebirth of other outdoor fun and games…
Mike Shaw recalls the days of whips and tops, marbles and hoops.
Mike Shaw recalls the dark days when mill chimneys and home fires belched smoke into the air of his native Colne Valley in Yorkshire.
Mike Shaw recalls the days when he served as a delivery lad, taking out vegetables grown by his father.
Mike Shaw recalls the the day a politician appeared as if by magic.
…In summer, every Friday evening included a half-hour session to put a new coat of whitening on cricket boots for the morrow.
You might as well look the part, even if you can’t play it, was my father’s motto, with which he continually bombarded me…
Mike Shaw is a shining example in care for his footwear.
Mike Shaw recalls the thrills of hurry cart racing.
For lots more of Mike’s memories please click on Backwords in the menu on this page.
…I realise now how immensely grateful I should be that my early years were not hemmed in by terraced houses, cobbled streets and satanic mills…
Mike Shaw has the happiest of happy memories of spending his boyhood in a rural setting.
…In my National Service days, non-smoking types were few and far between. We boys in Air Force blue were not known as the Brylcreem boys for nothing. But alongside the jar of hair cream you could almost guarantee to find a packet of Woodbines…
Mike Shaw recalls the days when smoking was commonplace.
The price of beer goes up, but a switch to lemonade or tonic water is not the appropriate response for canny Yorkshire fellahs. Mike Shaw tells another dialect tale.
Mike Shaw tells of his home-made “jungle juice’’ – the drink that kept him going (in more ways then one) when he was a boy.
…Way back in my childhood, one of my father’s basic philosophies was that virtually nothing should be thrown away…
In a wasteful age Mike Shaw follows his father’s thrifty precepts..
…No single sound from the past conjures up such vivid memories of Colne Valley’s history as the clatter of clogs on cobbles…
Mike Shaw recalls the days when mill workers clattered their way to and from work.
Mike Shaw remembers the Christmas Days of his boyhood.
The little man in the homburg hat and black overcoat did not seem to inspire an audience who stood in the drizzle on a dark Saturday afternoon in a Yorkshire mill town.
The little man was Clem Atlee, formerly Prime Minister, now leader of the Labour Party.
Retired journalist Mike Shaw recalls electioneering 1955-style.
“He had me taped by the end of my first term with him. “Apt to rely on others,” he wrote in my report book. Which was a rather kind and absolutely true way of saying that I frequently copied homework from one of my mates…’’
Mike Shaw, with varying degrees of affection, recalls those who taught him at grammar school.
Mike Shaw remembers the small purgatory that was his annual school speech day.
...Ours was a traditional wedding. In one of those Colne Valley chapels whose nonconformism was as strong as the tea brewed in their huge copper urns…
Mike Shaw, who is as much a part of Yorkshire’s Colne Valley as the hills and streams which form it, tells of the day he was wed.
…He remembered Marsden more for bad weather than bad behaviour… Mike Shaw chats to an old-fashioned village bobby.
…Even when my cocker spaniel put his teeth through my ear it was entirely my own fault for sitting beside him on the hearthrug and provoking him with a childish and what I foolishly considered to be a totally unrealistic canine impersonation…
Despite a series of unfortunate events Mike Shaw still likes dogs and horses.
…Those were the days when the barmaid could actually hear you ask for a pint. Now you have to stand there like a tic-tac man and hope she can understand your frantic hand signals…
Mike Shaw recalls Yorkshire pubs as they were in his younger days.
…Clammy moor grime crept down the valley slopes to create a depressing cloud of gloom. And even the weather-beaten faces of families from the hills grimaced like gargoyles in the drizzle…
Mike Shaw recalls the holidays of Yorkshire mill village folk half a century ago.
…The trains came out into the Tunnel End sunshine for all the world like wild animals breathing fast and furiously as they were freed from captivity…
Mike Shaw tells of the miles-long tunnels which allowed trains and barges to pass between Yorkshire and Lancashire beneath the Pennine hills.
…We schoolboys of 1939, for instance, were positively incensed when hostilities cut off vital supplies.
What sparked off genuine anger against Adolf was that he stopped us getting hold of footballs, cricket balls and train sets…
Mike Shaw tells some surprising wartime tales.
Mike Shaw deplores the modern habit of being in debt.
Mike Shaw recalls his boyhood tank-building days during World War Two.
Mike Shaw recalls provident days when folk were terrified of dying without leaving enough “brass” to pay for their funeral.
“… Everything seemed so warm, cosy and permanent. Even my aunt and uncle, who lived there at the time, reflected the warmth and permanence of the place….’’ But the house in which Mike Shaw’s relatives lived is now cold, empty and unwanted.
Mike Shaw recalls the thrills of the fairground Wall Of Death shows.
“A packet of strong mints was as essential as a notebook and pencil for a cub reporter like me who liked a swift pint on the way to a church bazaar…’’ Mike Shaw remembers his early days as a newspaper reporter.
…Apparently the middle-aged bachelors exchanged foul words over some poultry when their mother died. After the row they lapsed into a silent sulk which I’m told they carried on until one of them died…
Some rare characters have lived in Yorkshire’s Colne Valley, as Mike Shaw reveals.
The Colne Valley Labour Party in Yorkshire chose a candidate to fight a General Election – but as Mike Shaw reveals there was confusion as to what to call the would-be MP.
…Football took up most of every Saturday, with two matches in the day and only an hour or so in between to swallow dinner… Mike Shaw recalls the sporting times when his Saturdays were filled with football, and more football.
…Colne Valley people are rightly proud of their political heritage. But we don’t shout about the day we nearly killed the Prime Minister.We came very close to blotting our copybook on a September afternoon in 1951. And because I was there I suppose some of the blame would have fallen on me….
Mike Shaw tells a tale that is sure to please.
Mike Shaw recalls some childhood games.
Fiery Jack, Friar’s Balsam, Fenning’s Fever Mixture – Mike Shaw recalls home remedies of yesteryear.
“Why does a brown cow give white milk when it only eats green grass?’’ Mike Shaw writes of the traditional pantomimes which were as much a part of his boyhood Christmases as presents from Santa.
“I do recall writing a long essay about what I would do if I became lost in a dense forest…’’ Mike Shaw has mixed memories of school exams.
Mike Shaw was almost a total failure as an autograph hunter – but his old autograph book conjures up memories.
“Dancing was for girls. Snooker, darts, cards and dominoes were for boys….’’ Mike Shaw recalls those Saturday night hops of long ago.
“Nowadays, the so-called health experts frown disapprovingly on drinking milk straight from the cow…’’ Mike Shaw recalls the days when milk was delivered in churns, directly from local farm to house doorstep.
“…the nearest we came to dining out was scoffing a fish and three penn’orth on the way home from the pictures…’’ Mike Shaw says a helping in the open air is still the best way of eating out.
“With faces scrubbed, curls combed and shoes gleaming, we formed a veritable angelic host of little cherubs treading the path to goodness…’’ Mike Shaw recalls his Sunday-school-going days.
"You only get out what you put in,'' was the motto of Mike Shaw's father. And autumn was the time to put something into the garden to feed those prize-winning flowers and vegetables.
Mike Shaw recalls a Charlie Chaplin look-alike, a splendid chap who raised lots of cash for charities.
Mike Shaw reveals that his mother had a sure-fire method of getting rid of unwanted salesmen who came knocking at the door.
Mike Shaw recalls some of the politicians who sought his vote.
Mike Shaw recalls the nights when he listened to spooky stories on the radio, introduced by the man in black.
Mike Shaw writes with deep affection of the small mill town in which he grew up.
Mike Shaw stoutly defends the hospitable nature of folk born in Yorkshire's Colne Valley.
Mike Shaw recalls the trials of repairing punctures in bike inner tubes and football bladders. So you take a minimum of three tablespoons...
Mike Shaw recalls a couple of crusty coroners that he encountered during his career as a journalist.
Mike Shaw remembers the golden days when sporting home football supporters applauded good play by the visiting team.
Mike Shaw recalls the time in his Yorkshire village when housewives earned "pin money'' by starting a shop in the front parlour to sell sweets and cigarettes.
As a lad, passionately in love with cricket, Mike Shaw used to practice by hitting a tennis ball with a cricket stump againt the garden wall. (And Mike went on to become a very handy batsman, let me tell you. - Editor, Open Writing).
"Television brings real pictures into our homes. Radio encouraged children to use their imaginations...'' Mike Shaw recalls his younger days when he went roaming with radio guides Romany and Nomad.
Liberty bodices, balaclavas, vests, long johns - Mike Shaw remembers the warmth-bringing garments of his younger days.
Whether they are called armbands or sleeve holders, Mike Shaw still goes on wearing them.
Mike Shaw recalls drinking Dr Dan's magical health-giving mixture.
These days a lot of donkey work has gone out of household chores, says Mike Shaw. Young housewives of today don't know what a donkey stone is.
Mike Shaw remembers the ripping up of tramlines and the arrival of trolley buses.
When Mike Shaw was a little lad, off he would trot across the fields, in search of holly.
Rain often falls in West Yorkshire's Colne Valley and there was a time when no-one would leave home wihout a raincoat, as Mike Shaw recalls.
Mike Shaw recalls the days when working class families took a pride in keeping house and home spotlessly clean.
Mike Shaw recalls the days when all northern working class families did their grocery shopping at the local Co-op.
Mike Shaw recalls the boom years in his native Colne Valley when mills were humming round the clock, turning out miles and miles of woollen cloth.
It's amazing what some folk will do to fight the flab, says Mike Shaw, then goes on to recall a fitness fanatic of long ago.
Mike Shaw's father was teetotal. "You can't beat God's wine,'' he used to say as he held aloft a glass of sparkling spring water.
Mike Shaw, who failed to inherit his father's gymnastic ability, compares his rope-climbing attempts to a comedian's version of the Indian rope trick.
Mike Shaw recalls the excitement of a boyhood holiday in Blackpool - and the boredom of an ice show.
Mike Shaw recalls the days when folk dressed up in their best togs for a Sunday afternoon walk.
In this moving autobiographical episode Mike Shaw recalls the days when he played cards with an old soldier.
Mike Shaw, after dipping into his memory bank, goes on a trolley bus ride.
Mike Shaw recalls an elixir which, when he was a boy, his mother fed to him by the spoonful.
One day we were up to monkey tricks in the tree-tops, the next we were hiding away underground like troglodytes. Mike Shaw recalls boyhood days.
Mike Shaw recalls his first camping expedition - and a heart-breaking disaster involving a tent.
Mike Shaw says that the best way to get a seat on a bus after watching a well-attended football match is to run like the very devil in the opposite direction to that which you want to go.
Mike Shaw recalls his very first haircut - and a father who was a man of many parts.
Mike Shaw reveals that those West Riding mill masters of former days were as miserly with their words as they were with their cash.
Mike Shaw writes about his childhood involvment in war games of the serious kind.
Mike Shaw recalls the implements and routines of an old-fashioned washday.
Mike Shaw goes plodding through the early morning mist on his first day at grammar school.
Mike Shaw writes of the boyhood thrill of being in the League of Ovaltinies, using secret passwords.
As cold weather clamps down on Britain today, and the weather forecasters predict snow, Mike Shaw recalls the big freeze of 1947.