Maternal Grandparents
My maternal grandfather, Edward James Winter, was born in 1876 in Fairford,
Gloucester, a village that was to feature many times in my later life. That's
him, posing in front of the outside privy, holding me on my 1st birthday. When
he grew up, Grandfather worked for the Midland Railway which was merged in 1922
with several other railways to form the London, Midland and Scottish Railway
(LMS). He worked mainly on trains running between Gloucester and Leeds, a route
which quickly became known as the ‘Devonian’ route in recognition of the named
expresses which ran daily linking seaside resorts in Devon with Leeds and
Bradford. In the 1920s the 206 miles between Leeds and Bristol Temple Meads took
4 hours 40 minutes. In 2008 Cross Country Trains run an hourly service over the
same route utilising their high speed Voyagers and they pass within a mile of my
current home.Grandfather progressed through several jobs with the railway and eventually became a guard. When he had to stay overnight at the northern end of his patch he lodged with the Wells family who lived at 38 Westbury Terrace, Hunslet, itself running at right angles to the LMS Railway on the southern outskirts of Leeds. The landlord’s daughter, Edith, and Edward got married at Hunslet Parish Church in 1902 and they moved into number 32, just three doors along the terrace. The houses on Westbury Terrace were just like those on a dozen or so parallel streets on either side of Parnaby Road. Westbury Terrace was by far the most desirable of all because it alone fronted onto open fields and allotments – and it still does, well almost! The north side of Parnaby Road and all the streets on that side have long since disappeared beneath the Leeds urban motorway (M621), and feeder lanes to that motorway have cut off direct access to the A61 Leeds to Wakefield main road.
Westbury Terrace is little changed in 2008
(image left) from when I visited grandparents in
1940-42. Most of the houses in the area were basic back-to-back dwellings on
four levels, each with an attic and a cellar. No 32 had just one main room on
the ground floor, known simply as ‘the room’, and there was a tiny scullery off
to one side. The house’s only door opened directly from the street into the
room. The scullery was a fascinating place for a lad of tender years. I still
remember the pervasive smell of ‘senna pod tea’; apparently both grandparents
drank a brew regularly, presumably to keep their bowels regular. When Grandma
one day encouraged me to take a sip, I found it disgusting and my coughing and
spluttering made the grown ups laugh.In the scullery corner there was a substantial brick-built set pot with a coal fire underneath. The set pot was used for boiling the dirty washing on Mondays – always on a Monday. I still remember the great clouds of steam that used to fill the entire house on wash days. The distinctive smell of boiling whites was not unlike the steamy smell in railway stations and it almost cancelled out the smell of Senna Tea. I think the fire under the set pot must have been kept going for most of the time, day and night. I remember Grandma telling my parents one day that she’d got up just after midnight on the previous Sunday night because she couldn’t sleep. She ‘did’ the washing, including pegging it on the outside clothes line to dry, and then went back to bed. It was not done to hang washing outside on the Sabbath but very early Monday morning was apparently acceptable. Grandma then enjoyed a long and no doubt luxurious sleep until it was time to get up again for breakfast. Perhaps I inherited from Grandma my habit, irritating according to my friends, of not doing things at the proper time if I can get ahead of myself and do them early.
In Grandma's living room there was a coal fire with a small oven to one side and a back boiler. A couple of dampers, manipulated by a special poker with a hook on the end, allowed the heat of the fire to be diverted either to the oven, to the back boiler, or directly up the chimney. There was a single bedroom on the first floor and an attic above that. I don’t recall ever visiting either. The cellar was accessed by going out of the front door, down a few steps to yard level, and then down another, longer, flight of steps. In the yard, midway between my Grandparent’s house and their neighbour’s, was an outhouse – the proverbial brick-built privy – which was shared between the two families. There was not a lot of privacy for the occupant because the privy had a crude wooden door with large gaps at the top and bottom and more gaps between the horizontal planks. Inside there was a shiny-smooth, wooden seat mounted over the septic tank. The seat had two circular holes cut into it, providing side-by-side seating for when two folk were caught short at the same time. Those holes were much too large for my safety and so, fearful of falling into the noxious tank beneath, I availed myself of the facility only when absolutely necessary. On every visit to my grandparent’s house it was a source of worry to me that I might be forced to use the privy.
I remember Grandma Winter as a small, round, cheerful lady. I have only a few
photographs and a few happy memories of her because she died in 1942 at the age
of 59. I was only six years old when she died but I remember her and her house,
in the centre of the terrace, very well. After Grandma died, Grandfather retired
from the LMS and moved in with us. I thought this would be wonderful for he and
I got on so well together but sadly he seemed to have lost all zest for life. I
don’t think he ever got over the loss of his beloved wife and, to my dismay, he
died in July 1945, soon after suffering a stroke. I never did get my railway
trip with him but he kindled in me a lifelong interest in railways. I have
regularly travelled the Devonian route from Yorkshire to the south west and I
have frequently passed through the Dore and Totley tunnel which is still in use
today for local trains between Sheffield.Grandfather always promised to take me, after the war, on a railway trip to Gloucester to enjoy the ride and to visit some of his relations. Together we drew diagrams of the route, marking the tunnels, the stations, and the running times, and he told me about the many points of interest along the way including the extensive engine sheds at Derby, the famous crooked spire of Chesterfield’s Church of St Mary and All Saints, and the well-known breweries at Burton-on-Trent. I was particularly interested in his description of the Dore and Totley Tunnel south of Sheffield on the route to Manchester. He told me it was over three and a half miles long, the longest under-land tunnel in Great Britain, excluding the London Underground. and Manchester.