Walking Down From Cross Green to Hunslet Taking in the Gardeners Pub.

Walking Down From Cross Green to Hunslet Taking in the Gardeners Pub

So set off down South Accommodation Road. ‘There used to be tram lines down here and the road was split in two with a high wall in between,’ said Bri.’

‘When you went down Hunslet,’ said Malcolm , ‘you either walked, rode a bike or caught the number 63 bus, the trams ran until 1959 but they had stopped running down South Accommodation Road  long before that.’

‘Good old trams,’ I said, ‘I worked in Hunslet and used to go to work on my bike  I had to be there by 7.30 a.m. but thought nowt of it, it kills me to get up at that time now a – days. But If my bike was out of order I used to catch the 62 bus from Cross Green Lane down to Duke Street near the bus station and then catch a tram to Dewsbury Road, sometimes the bus would be running late and I would see my tram pulling away down York Street passed the bus station but I could jump off the bus and run passed the Parish Church and through the Calls and the trams ran so slowly, especially through traffic so that I was able to catch the same tram in Swinegate and not be late for work.’

We were now coming to the river Aire. ‘This is just an ordinary boring old bridge here now,’ said Bri, ‘it used to be that great big bowed suspension bridge, built for adventure.’ We could still see the river looking over the parapet of the new bridge and that they were making a good job of turning the old blanket and those adjacent old mills into flats. Full marks to the council for persevering with those old Victorian mills it would have been a shame if they had demolished them altogether. When I used to look out of my window on Cross Green Lane that old blanket mill was always in sight and it was derelict as long as I can remember and that’s over seventy years and yet the Victorians built things so good that they can even be rescued and brought back into life after all that time. If you looked up through the windows of the mill from the river bank you could see even the floors of the upper stories were made out of arched brickwork can you imagine the weight of all that and yet it has remained standing

‘Do you remember Jimmy Thrush riding across the bowed parapet of the bridge on his bespoke bogy?’ said Brian.

‘Yes, Jimmy was a daredevil,’ said Malcolm, ‘but we all got up to doing duffs and dares, didn’t we, things we wouldn’t think of doing today.  You know that big green pipe that ran across the bridge outside the railings I was dared to walk over there myself, they had put a great round spikey thing across the pipe 

To stop you doing that but they dared me to do it and I even negotiated the spikes at each end.’

‘Oh you fool,’ said Madge, ‘If you’d fallen in that would have been the end of you the river always looked black and sinister you couldn’t see an inch below the surface and how would you have climbed out the banks were concrete and rose about five feet above the water.’ 

.’

Malcolm said, ‘When you passed over South Accom Bridge you passed from Leeds 9 into Leeds 10 the housing stock became even worse than our shabby housing stock, one dinner hour while I was sitting in the car having my dinner I did a sketch of the street in front of me I think it was Norwich place.

I Think that was typical of the housing stock but even in the sketch amidst all the squalor a stoic lady is still hanging out the washing. The Hunslet lads always seemed tougher than us, when they crossed over the bridge in numbers we usually stayed out of their way and if we tried to cross over the locks at Stourton they would likely shower us with half bricks from the high point of the old railway bridge.

and remember the old Stourton School tiny by modern standards and yet one year in the 30s they were the champion football school of all England.

When you talked to folk who were old when we were young they would talk about Hunslet with pride they would say on Friday nights Waterloo Road was as busy as Briggate they would mention all the pawn shops and the tripe shops etc., I use to have a poem on my wall at work that an old lady gave me it went like this:

We were approaching Atkinson Street now. ‘Do you remember when we used to walk down here from School to Joseph Street Baths?’ said Brian, ‘we didn’t set off until after playtime it must have been approaching 11 o’clock by then and we had to walk all the way to the baths in Joseph Street and be in and out by twelve.’

‘The St Hilda’s girls didn’t go to Joseph Street baths we went to a swimming bath they had in Hunslet Lane School.’ said Bette.

‘Anyway to continue,’ said Malcolm, ‘we’d walk down here in a crocodile, with our trunks rolled up in our towels, you were a geek if you had a bag in those days – we got changed two to a tiny cubicle it was a tight squeeze you were lucky if you found your own socks when you came out of the water then it was through the slipper baths and line up on the side of the pool.

Those who were practicing for the first class certificate were first to be allowed into the pool candidates had to execute life-saving procedures, diving for the brick and a neat dive in addition to the actual swimming. Then it was the turn of those taking the second-class certificate – three lengths breaststroke and one length back stroke. Finally, the last of the certificate takers had their chance – those who were going for the third class certificate, which was just the one length of the bath. There was also the advanced ‘bronze medallion’ but I cannot remember any of our lot attempting that one although Pat Brown who lived next-door to us and attended Mount St Mary’s was successful in achieving such a medallion.

‘Anyway, I said ‘by the time we ‘gash hands’ were allowed to have our thrash about in the pool it was time to come out and make the long crocodile trip back to school.’ 

‘Did you ever go to Hunslet feast?’ somebody asked.

‘Feasts were very popular with the generation before us,’ Bette said.

‘Yes, they were the “‘Greatest Generation” they lived through two world wars and a depression but they didn’t have the home entertainment that we have today so the feasts when they came round were a time to let their hair down and Hunslet feast was one of the biggest, folk who had lived in Hunslet when they were young and had moved out still came back for Hunslet feast.’

‘It was held on what was then the car park at the Hunslet Rugby League ground at Parkside.’ said Bri.

‘Oh I remember the steam shamrock,’ said Brian, ‘what a beast that was, it was as big as a single decker bus and it was driven by steam it swung from horizontal to vertical if it had hit anyone on its swing it would have knocked them into next week.’

‘There were the dodgems and the carousels but in particular it was the noise and the smells, brandy snap and candyfloss and fish and chips.’

‘Oh fish and chips.’ said Madge, ‘the talk of it is making me hungry.’

‘Well it looks like being a pub  lunch for us today I don’t think there are any fish and chips open in Hunslet at this time.’ said Malcolm.

‘And alas there’s not so many pubs left in Hunslet now there used to be dozens. Look this used to be The Wellington that was a great pub now it’s a dental centre,’ I moaned.

‘What would that greatest generation think now that there are hardly any pubs left and they had an amazing amount.’

 ‘Yer that’s a beautiful Victorian pub it’s got a blue plaque around the other side and it has been saved because it’s a ‘heritage’ pub.’

‘Oh are we going in there for our pub lunch now,’ said Madge.

‘No please bear with me,’ I said, ‘there is another pub just passed Hunslet Parish Church, it doesn’t look much but it is even older than the garden gate and the beer is great,’  I pleaded, so we walked on passed the church with its beautiful steeple, and approached The Gardeners Arms.

‘The gardener’s Arms doesn’t look as old as the Garden gate but I’m told it pre dates the Victorian era and we used to come in here after football training the ale is like wine,’ I claimed.

‘I was looking for something to eat I don’t drink beer,’ said Madge.

‘Oh, come in you can just have a glass and they do a great pork pie.’

So we came in sat down and had a glass of the landlord’s best and a pie.

‘Oh I enjoyed that pie,’ said Madge, ‘I think I could manager another, I’ll go on a diet tomorrow.’

‘I’ve heard that before,’ said Malcolm.

So we all had another pie and the peas were ready by this time so he had pie and peas and another glass of beer and another then we just continued with the beer alone we all got a round and then we started to sing we went through our complete repertoire and there was another group of four old lads about our age and they joined in with us and we got on talking and they were a similar group of old mates like us and had all been together at  the school just around the corner, Hunslet National School it was called, we told them some of our tales and they regaled us with some of their tales from Hunslet and the beer was flowing like water Madge had taken to singing at the top of her voice  she was really letting her voice go and getting into the spirit of the occasion .

‘Oh I think I’m, getting a bit tipsy,’ she said.

‘Never mind,’ said Brian, ’we’ll carry you home.’

‘Oh don’t commit yourself;’ said Malcolm, ‘she’s one big heavy unit’,

He received his usual slap from Madge.

The Hunslet lads entered into the spirit of the occasion and after we had told some of our tales they responded with some great tales of their own.

The lads were called Brian, Gerry, Barrie and Eddy here are their tales.

Barrie remembers: Maria, she lived in Varley Square just off Church Street. Her job was to go round Hunslet’s Anchor Street, Carris Street, the Askerns’s and Gordon Road knocking people up for work from 4 a.m. onwards. She used a clothes prop with a couple of socks on the end so she wouldn’t break the windows, all for six/nine pence a week. She was a right character not to be crossed. A case of déjà vu Maria also looked after a lad who fell off the same Beeza Street Bridge as Pete’s dad. It must have been a favourite bridge for tippling off but this lad, Alec, was quite seriously injured but happily, he recovered and years later became my next door neighbour.

            Gills (milk man): he had a house at the top of Anchor Road. He only had a small round but he was very reliable. He delivered milk from a milk churn on a special barrow. He poured milk from a ladle into a jug or similar. He delivered to my gran If she went out she would leave a jug on the window sill – large for two gills small for one gill. She covered the top of the jug with a lace cover with coloured beads round the edge to stop flies getting in. The jugs were safe from theft in those days.

Eddy Remembers: When we worked at Richmond Machine Tool Co on Hillage Place we didn’t have much time to get home for dinner and back, so Curly Lonsdale and I we were off on our bikes down Hillage Road, and down Anchor Street. A lady had been hanging her washing out – she had taken the washing in but left the line across the street; Curley ducked underneath it, but it caught me around the neck and pulled me off the bike buckling my wheel.

Brian, who attended Hunslet Nash, remembers a school teacher throwing the heavy board rubber at a lad; it hit his head and bounced out of the three story window. The teacher then blamed the lad for the loss of the rubber and made him go look for it. It took him three hours searching before it was found.

Gerry Remembers: the School Dentist in Bewerley Street. You went on your own; mams didn’t take kids to the dentist in those days. The waiting room was a place of purgatory. You slid along wooden benches listening to the screams from the inner sanctum moving to the front when it would be your turn. Often kids lost their nerve when it was there turn next and went to the back of the queue again. When you got into the surgery they put a horrible green mask over you face and a metal clip into your mouth to keep it open, if you needed the drill it was a foot treadle affair. When they had finished with you, you passed into another room with a line of sinks where kids were spitting blood. Everyone moved up a sink to accommodate the new arrival

            On my way home from school Gerry said I had to pass a little yard where a guy kept ducks and chickens. One day I spotted two duck eggs could be reached under the wire. I pinched them and took them home. Mam gave me a right telling of for stealing – but we still ate the eggs.

Barrie Remembers: A foot coming through the ceiling at Hunslet Nash belonging to a lad who was foraging in the loft for bird’s eggs or something. Of course he shouldn’t have been up there in the first place but he was caught bang to rights because everyone recognised the shoe. Another time in Hunslet Church when they were ringing the bells one lad didn’t let go of the rope and it took him up and he hit his head on the ceiling where the rope passed through a hole.

General Banter: A guy walked into the Omnibus pub looking down in the mouth. His mates asked him what was the matter and he said his father had died that morning. They said he shouldn’t really be in here but he said he was trying to drown his sorrows. So the guys bought him his beer all night but just before closing time his dad walked into the pub. Then there was the guy in the Friendly pub in Holbeck he had a ‘Bobby Charlton’ type comb over which he used to keep in place with black boot polish. An old rugby league player had the Spotted Ox pub. He wouldn’t stand any nonsense from miscreants. On one occasion a guy continued to misbehave and the land lord had no option but to throw him out. He caught hold of his collar and the base of his jacket and ran him into the door, they bounced back so he ran him into the door again after the third time one of the regulars said, ‘Alf the door opens inwards.’

By the time we had had another pint the landlord called TIME. So we shook hands with the Hunslet lads and said we’d enjoyed their tales and we would have to do it again sometime.

‘Right we’ve a long walk home better all go to the toilet with our now walnut size bladders,’ said Brian.

‘Better not walk along the river side in this state,’ said Brian, ‘or we’ll finish up being food for the fishes.’

So we took to the streets: Waterloo Road, Goodman Street, Donisthorpe Street and South Acomm singing and pointing out things we remembered as we passed, the  steep Hill up to Cross green lane  that we used to call ‘The Mucky Hill’ because of the pig sties tested us a bit but we managed to stagger up by helping each other.

‘Better make for my place, it’s the nearest,’ said Madge, acting strangely benevolent.

We managed to climb Madge’s steep steps and just flopped down anywhere. ‘I’ll put the kettle on for you, Madge,’ said Bette, but by the time the tea was made three of us were asleep, and the rest were ruminating on what a great night we had hard.

Whatever Happened to Those Great East Leeds Pub Runs?

Whatever Happened to those Great East Leeds Pub Runs? Our parent’s generation is quite rightly labelled ‘The greatest generation’ (closely followed by ours of course). Life was certainly bleak for those who lived through two world wars and a depression, they knew what poverty and real austerity was about. But those who wanted could still get out locally for a couple of pints and a natter with their friends and neighbours at the end of the day, indeed that would have appeared to be the norm. What would our dads and uncles and those guys up the street think if they came back for a day and found no local pubs left in old East Leeds? And I suppose this is true for the rest of the country too.

I was about seven when the war ended and I remember an uncle of mine and a lad newly demobbed set up a garage in Knostrop to repair old cars and motor bikes. There were only old cars no new cars had been produced for private motoring since the outbreak of war in 1939. I haunted that garage taking in the smells of petrol, old leather and motor oil amidst the lovely yellowing windscreens and frantic activity, but religiously around nine it would be tools down they would pack up and jump into any available old banger and retire to The Fish Hut or The Black Dog (the pubs shut at ten but there were no MOTs or the breathalyzer to worry about) and I would think, what a glorious life, I’m going to have some of that when I grow up.

Well our generation did have a few decades around the old East Leeds boozers but not the present incumbents of the area, I’m afraid, for now they are all but gone. The Bridgefield, Black Dog, Waterloo and The Prospect are completely demolished (with nothing as yet put in their place) The Yew Tree, Fisherman’s Hut and Spring Close are closed and boarded up. The iconic ‘Slip’ is a supermarket The Hampton and Shepherd look as though they are being converted into flats or something and The Cross Green is some sort of Chinese restaurant that I have not as yet ever seen to be open. At the time of writing The Cavalier and the Hope Inn stand alone.

Rewind to the 1990s and there were still some great pub runs around the Richmond Hill area to enjoy. You could start at any point of your choice and work your way round until your capacity was filled or time was called. A choice run was to start at The Prospect and make a crawl in a clockwise direction. Let me take you with me on the Richmond Hill pub crawl

The Prospect: it was located at the highest point in Richmond Hill and the starting point for the annual Whit Walk. Like most pubs of the day it had a tap room where the old kids played their dominos and a ‘snug’ for the ladies to sup their stout. It was the ‘singing room’ that drew us in our youth. To start with the singing room was at the front and quite small for the artists they got onto the tiny stage, when Ronnie Dukes and Ricky Lee with the stony faced mother in law on the piano was engaged the noise nearly blew the roof off you could hear them in Dial Street. The venue was so popular that the singing room was first extended backward and then a massive extension was built at the back with a Wild West theme – swinging bar doors etc. We would repair to the Prospect after football training and on Sunday dinner time. The Prospect had a Sunday League football team that won The Sunday League Cup in the early sixties beating the well fancied Waterloo Colliery team 4-3. One night a few of us were having a quiet drink in the Prospect singing room and there were two huge parties of lads in there, there must have been about twenty in each party taking up about six tables each. One lot were easily identifiable as they were all decked out in ‘dickie bow’ ties. You could sense they didn’t like each other there had been a few words a bit of jostling and spilt beer, you could sense something was developing and it kicked off just before closing time. All forty lads started fighting, we took to the walls to give ‘em room buffets were flying there was glass and blood everywhere guys were laid out on the floor. My mate, George said, ‘look they are putting ‘em a fresh dicky bow on and sending ‘em out again.’ The room was completely trashed. There were no bouncers on hand to sort this type of thing out; pubs seemed to rely on a strong landlord to keep a lid on it. But this was something else. I think they had to close the singing room down for a bit after that to get it sorted out again. We referred to it as ‘The Battle of the Prospect’.

To return to the pub run the next on the list would be The Hampton

The Hampton I think the Hampton was my favourite pub in my halcyon days Nellie and George Barraclough were mine hosts (earlier the iconic Dolly Dawson – ex Hunslet rugby league player ran a tight ship there). They scrounged a barrel of beer from Hemmingway’s brewery for us when we won the Sunday League football Cup against the well fancied Barnbow in 1963/64. On match days they would fill a couple of tin baths for us to wash in the cellar (one for faces and one for the bums we would say). There was a fish and chip shop next door which could be quite handy. Funny the strange little things you remember the Hampton had frosted glass windows with the name ‘Hampton’ worked in, the frosted part stretched to many feet above the ground but one day I saw ‘Big John’ a local giant looking in for his mate, he was so tall he could look right over the frosted part of the glass.

After the Hampton you turned right into Ellerby lane and paid a visit to the Yew Tree: not really my favourite pub but it was on the run. I remember in the early days they had a team of seemingly old men that played on Snakey top pitch in blue and white vertical stripes The Yew Tree has only recently closed, there was an affair when a shot gun was discharged in there and then they took to opening strange hours and closing quite early in the evening.

We are now at the Spring Close the ‘Spring’ had a good name for the quality of its ale. In the fairly recent past an old mate Eric Wallitor ran the pub and we held our East Leeds Reunions there. I made my first visit to the Spring when I was probably underage to drink but recall there was a piano and on top of the piano and under a glass case was a crumbling piece of parkin and five woodbines and a note of explanation that these items had been sent by a mother to the front in the First World War but returned as her son had been killed before he could receive them.

By now we would have become quite merry and incredibly handsome on the run but as yet no one else would have noticed this transition. The ‘Spring’ has been closed for a few months at the time of writing but they had left exposed to the vandals a beautiful frosted glass window with the name of the pub worked within it. I have been holding my breath every time I passed expecting to see a brick had been thrown through glass that had stood probably since Victorian times. Happily now at least the window is boarded. I hope they protected it in time? A decision has to be made at this point, the run would always finish up in the Fish Hut and The Black Dog but did you have time or capacity to turn left and take in The Cross Green Hotel or right to take in The Cavalier.

The Cross Green was my absolute local as I actually lived in Cross Green Lane and it was always full of folk from our street who would tell my dad if they caught my drinking in there before I was eighteen, although there were tales that my old grandmother frequented that pub and evidentially often over indulged. One night I went for a pint in the Green and I saw an old mate seated across the room with a group of people not known to me. I saw him point to me and say something to his friends upon which they all stared at me. Then he came over to me and said, ’I’ve just told them you’re an unfrocked vicar.’ The Cross Green Pub used to have a good rival football team: The Cross Green Dodgers.

If you had veered to the right after ‘The Spring’ you could have taken in The Cavalier happily still functioning as a pub while I write this. The ‘Cav’ used to be the favourite watering hole for my wife and I in the early days, we loved to go in there on Saturday nights, It was close to Mount St Mary’s Church and there was a large Irish contingent to keep us entertained by their singing. I remember particularly Des and Barney O’Hearn regularly regaling us with a cheerful song and an old guy who regular brought the house down with his rendition of the Laughing Policeman. There would be a few rebel IRA. songs mixed in but no one seemed to take exception.

So to the final watering holes on our run: The Fisherman’s Hut and The Black Dog. These were the favourites of ‘The Greatest Generation’. By the time you reached these two it was the end of the run, the terminus. All those who had been making the run were crammed into these two pubs particularly The Black Dog, the very last one. You were lucky if you could find even standing room there was no chance of getting seated. As though it was wasn’t likely to be packed already occasionally a singer was engaged in there at the weekend; I remember a popular voice was that of Jonny Joyce. It was difficult to get to the bar at that late hour in The Black Dog there was no disciplined queuing and when last orders were called there was mad panic to get another drink. The place was a tinder box and there were many on short fuses it was sometimes more provident to return to the Fish Hut where there was more chance of being served after ‘last orders’. When it was ‘chucking out’ time the landlord would have a real job trying to clear his pub but if it had all ended good naturedly you would stagger out into the night air and being East Leeds locals your home was always within walking distance. No taxis required and you could sing away to your heart’s content and all seemed right with the world.

The Richmond Hill run misses out several of the great East Leeds pubs which those coming from the East End Park side of the railway would probably favour: The Shepherd and The White Horse were much favoured by the East End Park folk and we should not forget the great Clubs: East Leeds Working Men’s Club The Edmund House Club and East End Park Club these clubs were so good if you managed to get yourself signed in you would probable stay in there all night. Probably the most popular pub in the whole area would be The Slip proper name The New Regent but no one ever called it that. You used the Slip for big nights out when there was a big party of you. You had to ‘fall in with the doors’ to manage to get a couple of tables and put them together. There was waiter service in the concert room and the order of the day was to get a waiter on side early; they would say, ‘always buy him his own’, he’d just take the price of a half and then you would have his attention all night. The best waiter was the magical ‘Harry’, he would come waltzing through the crowded room balancing your round on a tray above his head and he never spilt a drop. Amazingly he would have already calculated the price of your round and anticipated the note you would give him and he already had your correct change ready in his top pocket.

So to return to my original question: what would our dads – those of the greatest generation’ – do if they returned for a day and fancied a night on the ale? Well I suppose they would have to do what the drinkers of today have to do now they have no locals – buy a few cheap cans from the supermarket to get themselves in the mood, then off to the clubs in the centre of Leeds, a taxi home, have their fights in the taxi rank and spend more money on the night than the old guys would earn in a week and be prepared to be going out at a time they’d expect to be rolling home. Somehow I don’t think that would appeal to them. It certainly doesn’t appeal to me! Click on picture to enlarge