FOREWORD

These stories fall almost exactly into the decade which began in 1950. If the recent history of Hebden Bridge has been one of industrial decline, followed by regeneration, then these ten years only witnessed the `decline` side of the equation. Although emphatically still a little factory town, full of textiles mills and engineering shops, short-time working was not uncommon, nor was the steady closure of mills, many of them to be mysteriously consumed by fire shortly afterwards.

Dirt was an integral part of the atmosphere. Its ingredients comprised the pollution carried over from industrial Lancashire by the prevailing westerly winds, the smoke and soot emitted by house and factory chimneys, and the regular outpourings from the funnels of steam engines. Trapped in the narrow defile of the valley, this noxious mixture had blackened the buildings, and combined with the dampness of the atmosphere, it conspired to make Hebden Bridge a hotbed of bronchial complaints.

Central Street pupils

As children, all this was unremarkable to us. This was our world, all that we knew. There were fixed compass points in our lives, such as school or church, and in many ways the Hebden Bridge of the 1950s seemed to be a changeless place. At the traffic lights, for example, was that triangle of Blackburn`s ( ironmongers ), Holt`s ( the great survivors ) and Timothy White and Taylor`s ( chemists ). At the far end of Market Street lay Masters the butchers and Collinge`s, the cooked meats shop. In between were to be found such institutions as Babyland and Jones the newsagents. Hadn`t it always been so? Wouldn`t it always be so?

These stories are set within this seemingly changeless framework of a grimy little West Yorkshire mill town, a place where any local family would not have to go too far back to find a Greenwood or a Sutcliffe somewhere in the family tree. Indeed, as a child I was often surprised at some of the strange surnames in usage, such as `Bushy` or `Wacky`, only to learn later that these were simply codenames to distinguish one branch of Greenwoods from another!

The years 1950 to 1960 took us from the era of post-war austerity to the `you`ve never had it so good` times, and in many ways I believe that we were a fortunate generation. We were never compelled to fight in a war; we just missed National Service; we grew up in a time of post-war idealism in the provision of housing, health and education. The last named two were fully free for the first time, and although we didn`t like school any better for it being free, at least the scholarships and grants opened up a world of educational opportunity for the working classes. As a bonus, we who made regular pilgrimages to Turf Moor saw Burnley F.C. win the First Division championship in 1960, and the flowering of a great side the like of which we will probably never see again.

The tales you are about to read are an attempt to give something of the flavour of growing up in this local environment. The earlier ones are concerned with boyhood, a time of constant oscillation between the emotions of fear and excitement, with very little in between. As I moved through adolescence, the imperatives of my later teens were driven by the allure of rock`n`roll, Nicky`s Cafe and motor-bikes. These themes find their way into the later tales. Some of the stories are family based, celebrating the whims of a father who, though eccentric, seemed to me to be no more so than the fathers of my friends. In fact, Hebden Bridge in those days abounded with `characters` of various types.

My contemporaries from the Hebden Bridge of the 1950s will recognise the settings and many of the people, embroidered by a little imagination. Real names are often used, although for various reasons I have `disguised` one or two people. To all my friends and acquaintances from that era, I send my greetings. We never dreamed that the town would become a clean and beautiful tourist spot, full of artistic creativity and alternative lifestyles. You do not need, however, to have lived in the valley at that time to enjoy these stories. The book is not a serious social documentary, but an attempt to amuse and entertain. All that is needed is to picture the characters and events against a backdrop of a black and smoky town in which the most familiar sound was not the roar of traffic, but a medley of clattering clogs, clashing looms and the steady hum of sewing shops.

Central Street library

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Trippers flock to Hebden Bridge because it seems a quaint and timeless place.

In truth it has changed enormously over the past half century and the 1950s was a watershed decade.

"Although emphatically still a little factory town, full of textile mills and engineering shops, short-time working was not uncommon, nor was the steady closure of mills, many of them to be mysteriously consumed by fire shortly afterwards."

Those are the words of author Peter Thomas, Hebden Bridge born and bred, whose new book, "From Rationing to Rock and Roll", is a humorous but often evocative and poignant view of what it was like to grow up in the town during the 1950s.

The old Central Board School, Hebden Bridge

Nicky's Cafe