Wigan Album

Barrie, your father obviously had a more favourable opinion of Wigan than George Orwell did a few years later.

Your Father left us a special photo of our lovely park as it was in 1926. My niece lives in Birkenhead and we are attending her post-wedding party in May, staying overnight in New Brighton....I haven't been there since I was a child.

Please forgive me if I've posted this article before.

Sunday Afternoons, 1950s.
A Sixpenny Wish.
Early nineteen fifties, Sunday afternoons without fail, I, along with a collection of older cousins, walked to Mesnes Park. Church out of the way, and armed with coppers earned throughout the preceding week, going errands for neighbours, or on a particular good week, shillings from the rebate, after the gas meter had been emptied. This time of wealth alas, only occurred infrequently. I know more than one school pal, who decided that the collection money meant for the upkeep of the church, would be better spent in The Park Cafe, "anyway it's only tuppence and won't be missed", said to justify their misdeed. I must confess to being tempted to follow their lead, but after much soul searching, concluded that eternal damnation, and the fire that never goes out wasn't worth risking for a few pence. Catholic guilt I suppose!
On the way to the park we would often call at The Market Square to admire the cars that had been parked over night, each child would decide which car we would like to have when grown up, my choice was always the Triumph Mayflower, an ambition that hasn't totally disappeared.
On reaching the park gates, the race was on, to reach the statue of Sir Francis Sharp Powell. Each believing the story, that if you rubbed his foot and ran round the bronze figure three times, you would find a sixpence. I can't remember feeling disappointed when week after week the promised reward failed to materialise. However, I can still remember the excitement when the predicted dividend, almost transpired. That particular Sunday, I won the race, and having completed the ritual, made my way towards the cafe. As I made my way along the path (no waking on the grass in those days). In the distance, glinting in the afternoon sun, I see what I convinced myself was the long looked for tanner, alas to be crestfallen, on discovering the windfall was only a threepenny bit. After initial disappointment, I am pleased with my find. Hence from that day, I have believed that this local piece of folklore is at least half right!
Next stop the cafe to spend our treasure, winter months hot Vimto, on warmer days a glass of lemonade, and if funds allowed a Cassinelli ice cream, with raspberry. The establishment was always packed to overflowing, my sister, seven years older than yours truly, was usually there, and not at all happy to see my smiling countenance. Her group of friends used the cafe to show of their Sunday best and look for eligible young men, more than one marriage had its beginnings in the Park Cafe. An uninvited little brother may well have cramped her style. I more often than not managed to blackmail her in to giving me a copper or two to make myself scarce. Then loot in my pocket off to the playground.
We would play all sorts of games, the girls Seashells , two balls, hopscotch and skipping sung to rhymes such as "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor, Rich-man,Poor-man ,Beggar-man, Thief" .
The boys would have no truck with such girly games, perish the thought! You’d have been ostracised if you so much as touched a skipping rope, worse still a ball if it wasn't a football or a rugby-ball . Although some games were played by both sexes Hide and Seek
and my particular favourite, SKilly, a game I think peculiar to Wigan, I won't go into the rules, but I'm sure many readers of The Wigan Observer will also remember it with fondness. Another popular game, the older boys would play Tarzan on the monkey bars, the younger boys Cowboys and Indians and even more controversial Japs and English,or Jerrys and Brits. Remember, this time was only a few years after World War 2,and people were far less hung up on political correctness. It was a time when people would examine

goods to make sure that they had no input from Germany or Japan, thank goodness times have moved on and scars have healed, today terms such as these would be frowned upon, but not so in those days, so I felt I ought to mention them for accuracy ,certainly not to cause offence.
After the playground, a brief visit to the bowling green, the stay there was short because like my sister and her compatriots, the men,(always men bowlers in those days) were not pleased with our presence and would threaten us with 'The Parkie', now there was a man not to tangle with. The threat ringing in our ears and a similar welcome on the Tennis Courts, off then to see the ducks, and then home, passing Sir Francis without so much as a glance; strange on entering the park everyone wanted to take part in polishing his shoe, on the way home he was universally ignored, so much so he mightn't never of lived!
Home then to a good old fashioned tea. Mothers would have been busy in our absence, baking, the tables would grown under the weight of meat and potato pies, meat pies, egg custard tarts and of course home baked bread. Sitting in the middle of the feast, a trifle, which couldn't be disturbed until everyone had their fill of the savouries. When tea was over the leftovers were carefully wrapped in greaseproof paper and placed in the meat safe ( very few had refrigerators in those days) waste wasn't an option, my Mother was a particularly good manager, Aunties would joke " Janey can make a meal out of a dish cloth". Waste was a luxury that couldn't be afforded! The residue from Sunday would make a lovely Monday tea or "jack-bit" for Dads and Uncles to take to the pit, today it would be called 'a packed lunch' ,although truth to tell it never tasted as good on the second day. I reasoned because the baking aroma had dissipated, that on the previous day had the gastric juices flowing on entering your home, or even passing a neighbour’s house, everybody baked and the smell emitted from every door. Nothing could be touched before hands and face had been washed and the obligatory inspection of said hands and face.

Brilliant, Tom!

Another good story Tom,you should write a book.

Tom your words bring back happy memories. In 1952 we moved into no.3 Dicconson Terrace and lived there till 1956 and the park was a favourite haunt.
Barrie, Monks lived at no2 so perhaps your father lodged with them. when we were there they had the bakers shop opposite the Griffin.

Russian boots were considered to be a rather shocking fashion statement in the 20s . Wigan had it's fair share of flappers it seems .

Peter, I remember the shop you mention . I remember going into the shop for a 1d Hovis Loaf.
Next to that shop was Hilton and Leyland Estate Agents. It just grassed area now.

I’m glad ‘father’ found Wigan favourable to live there Barrie. He sounded a very positive
man. I love the diary entries he makes they are and must be a treasure for you to read his thoughts from long ago. I’m beginning to feel I know him as well.! Tom another tale well told.

Tom..you're missing your way...you're a brilliant story teller

Tom, the penny loaves are a wonderful memory and straight from the oven. Also my mother would give me a point from the ration book to get four lung tips for a penny from the sweet shop.

I am intrigued with the figure on the left. It’s either very tall or it’s someone giving a ‘piggy back’. The photo is a bit grainy when enlarged so I can’t tell but compared to the figures on the right it must be somebody carrying another person on his shoulders. Who can tell? Cyril should come up with something!

I have put these 2 photos on the Mesnes Park item in Album (Places), it is worth a visit to view the same scenes over the past century or so. The fountain has been changed a few times and so has the sky line. Over the years my Father loved the park and certainly in the 20's on a summers day when the band played. He was a lover of brass bands and so am I.

Veronica - the figure on the left is actually two lads playing leapfrog.
You can see the lower lad is wearing 'long' short trousers with socks to just below his knees.
He is stooping forward, and the right leg of the lad vaulting over him can just be made out against the border surrounding the fountain.

You’re right Peter I never thought of that. Thanks for that. You must have good eyesight.

I've only just seen your post Veronica, I hadn't taken much notice of the figures and initially had been looking more at the flowers around the fountain and the buildings in the background. As the park always was, I was imaging that it too would have been a blaze of colour, and not just with bedding plants but also with trailing plants.

I too with glancing had assumed it to be someone tall and stooping, but as you say when made aware you can make out two boys having a laugh and some great fun. Wonder if the children's playgrounds were in the park at that time of 1926?
https://www.wiganworld.co.uk/album/photo.php?opt=5&id=32776&gallery=Mesnes+Park&page=5

When I was researching Wigan's WW1 Memorial, various sites were suggested of it - one of them being that of this fountain. One Councillor who backed it said he lived overlooking the fountain and reckoned it was ugly, so wanted it gone. It appears from this image that it was at least switched off as a fountain and disguised by 1926 - with hedging etc. There are later images of it showing this more clearly - until it was finally removed altogether.

So David they're not trailing plants after all, but hedges!
I was imagining, not imaging as I'd put, that they were trailing plants around the rim of the fountain, I can see now that the fountain bowls have been infilled with soil and with hedges planted to help cover up the ugly colour.

Why, if the original fountain had been deemed to be ugly by someone on the council back in the 1920s, did those now in charge have a copy of the original made and also paint it in the same original ugly colour. A tranquil and relaxing colour of paint would have worked wonders to brighten it up then and also as it would now, so as to cover up that ugly looking dark drab maroon paint that's on it.

After having been brought up not to walk across the grass I still can’t . I am 67. However I ‘ll admit to climbing over the gates coming home from Pemps. !