Fullerton Terrace

Saturday mornings in Fullerton Terrace, in an area of Manchester, during the late forties was always a hive of activity.

First to call on his rounds was the man who sold Dandelion and Burdock. Him being a regular supplier to all the neighbours in this busy street. This lovely drink came in stone jars and would last a small family a week, given in small glasses. Each a treat to behold .

Then came one of the local boys selling small bundles of firewood, which was so useful to start the coal fires that everyone had then. Especially useful for our coalman who called every two weeks. My mother used to order two bags of coal, and every month one extra for the coming winter months

Most of these Victorian houses had large cellars where the weekly washing was done. The wash was first soaked in a large tub, known as a dolly tub, then put in a boiler housed in the corner of the cellar. All this process took a long time. It was then put through a old fashioned wringing machine called a mangle. It was really hard work turning the handle round.

The main feature of the day was the street singer. Albert by name. Eighty three years old with a beautiful baritone voice. He used to throw his cap on the floor then walk up and down the street singing really sad songs. All the children would run up to him and give him a penny.

While all the liveliness was going on the neighbours in this busy street were stoning the steps in front of their houses. The stones they used to clean these steps were all obtained from the rag and bone man, who called to the local streets in all weathers to collect old clothes in return for cream, light brown or dark brown stones. When the stones were wet they were rubbed on the steps which looked nice when finished. Many a time children would run into their houses, grab hold of good clothes that were in use and run to give them to the rag and bone man for a balloon. Many a time I have seen their mothers running after them to retrieve the clothes.

There were so many lovable, warm neighbours in this busy street; one being Elsie Hannigan, a dear friend to everyone. Saturday tea time she cooked big pans of potato hash locally known has Hannigan’s Hash. This was welcome to anybody who called at her house for a bowl, it came with a thick slice of her homemade bread.

At no. 16 lived Harry who raced pigeons; and no. 23 was called the posh house in the street. It was owned by a retired music hall star and run for theatrical people appearing at the local Hippodrome; we met some quite famous Artistes. At the time Lulu Barnard lived there.

I used to run errands for some of the neighbours. Money was never exchanged. You were given a piece of fruit or a slice of homemade cake. Sometimes I would go on an errand for my mother to the local Co-op. I would race off so I could get back quick to play with my friends and she would shout: ‘Don’t forget my docket no 72109 or we won’t get any divvy.’ This being like the points system in supermarkets today. The number has stayed in my head for the last sixty years.

When the evening came round lots of local people went out. We used to admire the different clothes they wore. Mrs Roberts always wore a beautiful brown astrakhan coat with large pearl buttons, soft leather shoes, pair of kid gloves and a felt hat with a large brown feather to complete the outfit. She used to tell everyone she had put Snow Fire cream on her face, and a hint of ‘Evening In Paris’ perfume from that special little dark blue bottle. This would make us children smile because she said the same thing every Saturday night.

This lovely street has now gone, bulldozed in the 1960s for redevelopment. But fond memories for me and lots of people in that street will always stay with us.

By Margery Kenyon

  Fullerton Terrace      click play button for streaming audio