Longford (inc. The Red Hills)

Hold on a minute, Dreamtime, I was sharing thoughts of my childhood, a childhood that took me down the Meeting Fields, that took me up the Red Hills. What "other ideas" did you imagine this Longford Lad had "in his youth", I wonder. Nothing salacious, I trust, for I was but a pup. Yes, I had some idea of the snogging that was going in on in them there fields over yonder, but I certainly wasn't involved in those things, for I was a child. And I certainly didn't go looking to discover what the adults (and I stretch here, of course, for some of the folks I'm sure were older teenagers) in the long-grass up to were (avoiding ending the sentence with a preposition). But, yes, I mentioned the "snoggers" to establish the premise that these people would hardly snitch on me for skipping school when they, themselves, were skipping something in favour, perhaps, of hanky-panky. It seems to me that I waxed close to poetic in describing the effect Morgana's photographs had on me, comparing the vistas presented by her to the Elysian Fields of yore, writing of a brook that appeared now to babble when once the best it could do was mutter, a metaphor that pleased me perhaps too much. I suppose I failed for you - your recollection of what I wrote being somewhat different, for all that you do not specify, save for "other ideas". I'm sure that I had no intention of giving offence, suggesting I was down there in the Red Hills for prurient considerations; however, if my prose suggested such, I perhaps should seek the counsel of those involved in remedial writing, for I clearly am not up to my game. Perhaps what you had in mind was a jest, in which case all is forgiven. I recall those assertions in my school reports - "must try harder". I never took them seriously hitherto, but now I certainly shall. Easter Sunday, tomorrow, with all its promise of redemption and new beginning, new hopes. I know I'll do better tomorrow.

Yes I too was a Stone Finisher at the Concrete in Grindle Road, it was putting a scrim of cement on the coping stone, lintel, cap. In lots of mixtures. I may have known and worked with your Father. Regarding Dovedales Wood Yard it was never the Concrete works, that was further down the road. In fact it was Longford Bridge Wood Yard. Robins brought the land opposite the concrete works in the sixties, it was a Brick Yard and there was a very big hole where they got the brick material from. I was born in The Croft off Lady Lane, the whole community was uprooted from there in the late sixties. It was several years before they started building those houses. Taking away a right of way down to the River Sowe the Council let them do it. And don't let me go on about the Salem Church taking down all the Gravestones and such to make it easy to mow. An old history gone because some nameless cretin thought it would be quicker and easier.

My uncle, Aubrey Sephton, used to work at Longford Concrete - at the site on Longford Road. That would be about 50-60 years ago.

Now Sephton is not the most common name in England, though it certainly rings a bell for me. There were, in Longford, when I wuz a lad, people of that name. But let me say, Celeretcertus, that your locating Longford Concrete on the Longford Road is in error. Longford Road ran/runs from the canal bridge at the New Inn (now gone, but the canal bridge was known in my youth as New Inn Bridge) right through the village to Longford Bridge, located at the corner of Sydnall Road, where it became/becomes Bedworth Road. What the same road became/becomes after the Iron Bridge I have no idea, but the "Concrete" (no name attached, in much the same way as the Wood Yard, beside the Longford Basin was the Wood Yard, no name attached) was on Bedworth Road, between the Engine pub (and on the same side of the road as the Engine, as was the Wood Yard) and that Iron Bridge. Whether the "Concrete" on Bedworth Road had any association with a concrete works on Grindle Road is outside my personal knowledge, though (given the efforts of MickW and Morgana) I no longer doubt its very existence, my paper-round experiences (What Concrete? Where?) notwithstanding. Sephton, you say. Please give us more names with which to conjure.

Both concrete yards were owned by Derrick Robbins, the chairman of Coventry City who made Jimmy Hill to be his manager when I was working there in the 1960s. In fact it was the concrete yard in Grindle Road that made stands for Highfield Road when it began a all-seater stadium. They also supplied some for Derby County when they were at the Baseball Ground. Sephtons are in our family tree, a few times removed. I myself was born in Longford in The Croft off Lady Lane.

The shop was called Ravens by the alleyway to Longford Park

It use to be the Drill Hall for St, Thomas School

I imagine, treddz, that you are correct in this regard, hence - perhaps - the hall's accepting the St John's Ambulance Brigade (no threat to anyone/anything) as regular users of the facility, once upon a time. Whatever its intended function, and in this you probably are quite right, for my younger brother joined the Church Lads' Brigade and met in the same building (until they were forced to asemble at the old grammar school (Bishop St and Hale St) the building's name as that I do not recall; indeed, for me, it had no name, and when I was a lad that was quite acceptable, that was the received understanding. In short, the building was just that, the building and all. The only "Drill Hall" I knew was on Victoria Street (but I stand to be corrected so far as the street name is concerned), and there I saw - for a very brief time in my life (never - thus far - to be duplicated) "professional" wrestling, and I use the term "professional" in much the same way as I would use it to describe actors - those who do it for love and money, those who - amateurs - do it for love alone. Here, I revert to its original expression (contrary to Newlands and Bricusse) "The Smell of the Greasepaint, the Roar of the Crowd", for there was much to suggest theatre in the purported professional wrestling I witnessed in the Drill Hall, most particularly in the "heavyweight" category - always top of the bill. The other "weights" always appeared to be trying to prove something, if not to others then at least to themselves. I think the notion became "personal best" in later usage. But you, treddz, have established your credentials in matters Longfordian, and I welcome you in hopes of more.

There were two coal merchants in Longford. One was near the Griffin - that was Lole's, the deliverer of coal to our house. The other was Marlow's (possibly Marlowe's) which was on Lady Lane, behind what we knew as the Orchard - an open expanse between the Saracen's Head and the Post Office. As a child I played with the Marlow/Marlowe daughter in the Orchard. The Lole family was somewhat older and their issue would have been working on the coal delivery trucks for they were young men. At the same time, I'm sure, they were working with their wives on the production of children who would play in the Orchard.

Longford lad if you look back on this for Fardon he is related to Marlow s the coal merchant on then Canal Lane now Lady Lane the house of Marlows coal still stands. I think Fardon is on page 6 of this thread.

Hi all A copy of my posted reply of over twelve months ago. "Thu 14th Mar 2013 9:50pm On 14th Mar 2013 9:10pm, NormK said: The name Marlow somehow reminds me of coal.... Thumbs_up Hi NormK, Wave Longford also had a Miss Marlow, (Phyllis) who was an outstanding music teacher & pianist. She played the piano for George St school in Bedworth in the fifties & sixties, as well as having a teaching studio in her home. Wave " Miss Marlow was related to the Bedworth Marlows.

Now, I should have said to myself, the Longford Orchard? There was, in my recollection, nary a fruit tree in sight. It was merely a patch of greenery, so why not call it the Orchard? There was a massive old tree - (I didn't know in those days how to distinguish one tree from another) - and it was close to the No. 20 (Bedworth-bound) bus-stop - almost exactly-opposite the lane way that led to the skating rink - but it was not a fruit-tree. Whatever term might have been employed to more-accurately describe that bit of open land between the Saracen's Head and the Post Office, one thing is certain - in those days it was off-limits (in the daylight, at least) to any adult, save - perhaps - when there was a need on an adult's part to throw-away unwanted stuff. This activity the kids didn't mind, for the throw-away stuff was the the warp and weft of any manner of things - castles to be built, ditto U.S.-western frontier cavalry forts, whatever. Oh, my! What a site, and Morgana's Secret Garden is secret no more. What a beautiful thing! Thank you, Morgana for sharing with us your Secret Garden. Much as I appreciate the current look of Longford - beautiful and all that it is - this site has prompted memories that suggest to me that it was no bad place even in the 1940s/1950s.

A fellow Longfordian! After lo these many years, I have fond memories of people in knew from the Croft, and from Lady Lane. Curiously, in the back of what it pleases me to call my mind (whatever anyone else might say about it), I seem to associate the name Sephton with Longford Road or Bedworth Road. Were by old dad alive today (he died in 1982), he would be able to tell all, but there were names back then that I have encountered nowhere else - including Sephton - names like Grimley, Staley and such, alongside the more common English names of Smith (of course), Haywood, Warwick, Shaw, Gardner (as in Freddie, who batted for the county cricket team), Bachelor, Courtenay, Stringer. My great-grandmother was, at birth, a White, and her parents ran (late 19th C.) the little shop beside the jetty off Lady Lane that led to the Meeting Fields and the Red Hills. Great Grandma was a Burdett, and that was a common enough name in the village, and hardly alien to English surnames in general. Great times, great people. My son enjoys the forenames Sam, Wheatley (my mother's maiden name - she was born in Bedworth in 1909, on Wootton St off the Bulkington Rd), Terence (his Irish grandfather's Christian name). We had great hopes of his pitching in the baseball major leagues as S. Wheatley (Sweetly), but - like myself, like his mother, he turned out to be a book-ish fellow.