cycling winter 1947

"wafflycat" <w*a*ff£y£cat*@£btco*nn£ect.com> wrote in message
news:[email hidden]...

Quoted message said:

Memories of the winter of 1947 online at

http://www.itvregions.com/Anglia/News/Your+Memories.htm

I like this one:-

"In 1947, I was a 17 year old working for Harry Dalton, a farmer in
Chawston, Bedfordshire. My home was in St Neots and I had to bike the four
miles to work and one particular morning having braved the elements I
arrived at Chawston very, very cold so I opened my flask to have a hot
drink only to find the whole flask was frozen solid."

I was born in August 1947, so at least I know how my parents kept warm!

Bill

wafflycat said the following on 29/01/2007 12:25:

Quoted message said:

"It was a very hard winter and I remember walking fom St Neots to the
top of Paxton Hill only to kick something that caused me to fall over.
It was the top of a telegraph pole where the wind had drifted the snow
so very deep."

FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
You were lucky. We lived for three months in a paper bag in a
septic tank. We used to have to get up at six in the morning, clean the
paper bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down t' mill, fourteen
hours a day, week-in week-out, for sixpence a week, and when we got home
our Dad would thrash us to sleep wi' his belt.
SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
Luxury. We used to have to get out of the lake at six o'clock in
the morning, clean the lake, eat a handful of 'ot gravel, work twenty
hour day at mill for tuppence a month, come home, and Dad would thrash
us to sleep with a broken bottle, if we were lucky!
THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
Well, of course, we had it tough. We used to 'ave to get up out of
shoebox at twelve o'clock at night and lick road clean wit' tongue. We
had two bits of cold gravel, worked twenty-four hours a day at mill for
sixpence every four years, and when we got home our Dad would slice us
in two wit' bread knife.
FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night half
an hour before I went to bed, drink a cup of sulphuric acid, work
twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to
come to work, and when we got home, our Dad and our mother would kill us
and dance about on our graves singing Hallelujah.
FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
And you try and tell the young people of today that ..... they
won't believe you.

:-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

--
Paul Boyd
http://www.paul-boyd.co.uk/

Paul Boyd usenet.dont.work@plusnet said:

FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
You were lucky. We lived for three months in a paper bag in a
septic tank. We used to have to get up at six in the morning, clean
the paper bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down t' mill,
fourteen hours a day, week-in week-out, for sixpence a week, and when
we got home our Dad would thrash us to sleep wi' his belt.
SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
Luxury. We used to have to get out of the lake at six o'clock in
the morning, clean the lake, eat a handful of 'ot gravel, work twenty
hour day at mill for tuppence a month, come home, and Dad would thrash
us to sleep with a broken bottle, if we were lucky!
THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
Well, of course, we had it tough. We used to 'ave to get up out of
shoebox at twelve o'clock at night and lick road clean wit' tongue. We
had two bits of cold gravel, worked twenty-four hours a day at mill
for sixpence every four years, and when we got home our Dad would
slice us in two wit' bread knife.
FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night half
an hour before I went to bed, drink a cup of sulphuric acid, work
twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission
to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad and our mother would
kill us and dance about on our graves singing Hallelujah.
FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
And you try and tell the young people of today that ..... they
won't believe you.

:-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

You're nicked. No arguments. Get in the van.

wafflycat said:

Memories of the winter of 1947 online at

http://www.itvregions.com/Anglia/News/Your+Memories.htm

I like this one:-

"In 1947, I was a 17 year old working for Harry Dalton, a farmer in
Chawston, Bedfordshire. My home was in St Neots and I had to bike the
four miles to work and one particular morning having braved the elements
I arrived at Chawston very, very cold so I opened my flask to have a hot
drink only to find the whole flask was frozen solid."

And that's followed by

"It was a very hard winter and I remember walking fom St Neots to the
top of Paxton Hill only to kick something that caused me to fall over.
It was the top of a telegraph pole where the wind had drifted the snow
so very deep."

and the country grinds to a halt when we get an inch of snow these days...

One of my teachers at primary school had learnt to build igloos during
the war. So he built a huge one in the playground which took a whole
class. It stayed there for ages.....

"wafflycat" <w*a*ff£y£cat*@£btco*nn£ect.com> wrote in message
news:[email hidden]...

Quoted message said:

and the country grinds to a halt when we get an inch of snow these days...

It doesn't, at least it didn't last Wednesday when there was an inch of snow
on the ground.

What was worse for St Neots in 1947 was the flooding that followed the
thaw. The house I live in had 18" of water in it then, according to
Tom who used to live in the terrace. (He died a several years ago,
well into his seventies, having lived in the same terrace since 6mths
old).

Paxton Hill, though not high is a bit of a sod on a bike, being one of
those longish ones with three false summits. Nothing worse than
thinking you've got to the top then finding some b*****d has added a
bit more on .... again !

Mark W said:

What was worse for St Neots in 1947 was the flooding that followed the
thaw. The house I live in had 18" of water in it then, according to
Tom who used to live in the terrace. (He died a several years ago,
well into his seventies, having lived in the same terrace since 6mths
old).

Paxton Hill, though not high is a bit of a sod on a bike, being one of
those longish ones with three false summits. Nothing worse than
thinking you've got to the top then finding some b*****d has added a
bit more on .... again !

I was born in 1947 and I can tell you that all cycleable hills have
gradually been gaining extra height, together with steeper gradient,
ever since. The rate of aggregation has been increasing quite rapidly
in recent years. This is proven by the simple fact that every time I
cycle up a hill, it requires more effort on my part than on the last
occasion. Quite obvious, really.

--
Brian G
www.wetwo.co.uk

www.tapan.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk

"Brian G" <[email hidden]> wrote in message
news:[email hidden]...

Quoted message said:

Mark W said:

What was worse for St Neots in 1947 was the flooding that followed the
thaw. The house I live in had 18" of water in it then, according to Tom
who used to live in the terrace. (He died a several years ago, well into
his seventies, having lived in the same terrace since 6mths old).

Paxton Hill, though not high is a bit of a sod on a bike, being one of
those longish ones with three false summits. Nothing worse than thinking
you've got to the top then finding some b*****d has added a bit more on
.... again !

I was born in 1947 and I can tell you that all cycleable hills have
gradually been gaining extra height, together with steeper gradient, ever
since. The rate of aggregation has been increasing quite rapidly in
recent years. This is proven by the simple fact that every time I cycle
up a hill, it requires more effort on my part than on the last occasion.
Quite obvious, really.

--
Brian G
www.wetwo.co.uk

I was 10 years old in 1947 and I remember the winter very well .

Not much biking but sledging for days/weeks on end -- and in shorts too --
I hadn't graduated into longs then! I certainly recall getting back home to
thaw out in front of a roaring coal fire --- but upstairs seemed to be
permanently frozen with deeply frozen bedroom windows with fantastic ice
patterns we used to put a fire brick from the oven, wrapped in a cloth, into
bed to warm it up! And 1 or 2 boys were killed when they slammed into a
brick wall at the end of a long, fast downhill run on what was sheet ice!

Where's my fiddle!

Trevor A Panther
In South Yorkshire,
England, United Kingdom.

Pinky said:

www.tapan.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk

Quoted message said:

"Brian G" <[email hidden]> wrote in message
news:[email hidden]...

Quoted message said:

Mark W said:

What was worse for St Neots in 1947 was the flooding that followed the
thaw. The house I live in had 18" of water in it then, according to Tom
who used to live in the terrace. (He died a several years ago, well into
his seventies, having lived in the same terrace since 6mths old).

Paxton Hill, though not high is a bit of a sod on a bike, being one of
those longish ones with three false summits. Nothing worse than thinking
you've got to the top then finding some b*****d has added a bit more on
.... again !

Quoted message said:

Quoted message said:

I was born in 1947 and I can tell you that all cycleable hills have
gradually been gaining extra height, together with steeper gradient, ever
since. The rate of aggregation has been increasing quite rapidly in
recent years. This is proven by the simple fact that every time I cycle
up a hill, it requires more effort on my part than on the last occasion.
Quite obvious, really.

Quoted message said:

I was 10 years old in 1947 and I remember the winter very well .

Quoted message said:

Not much biking but sledging for days/weeks on end -- and in shorts too --
I hadn't graduated into longs then! I certainly recall getting back home to
thaw out in front of a roaring coal fire --- but upstairs seemed to be
permanently frozen with deeply frozen bedroom windows with fantastic ice
patterns we used to put a fire brick from the oven, wrapped in a cloth, into
bed to warm it up! And 1 or 2 boys were killed when they slammed into a
brick wall at the end of a long, fast downhill run on what was sheet ice!

I was five, and I can remember my Dad opening the door to the backyard
and the snow outside came halfway up the doorframe. He had to dig a
path through it to the coal cellar, and when I walked along it I was
in a snow ditch the sides of which were well over the top of my head.

Someone else mentioned the window frost ferns. I can also remember
sitting in front of my bedroom window watching the frost ferns grow as
I breathed on them. Magical!

--
Chris Malcolm [email hidden] DoD #205
IPAB, Informatics, JCMB, King's Buildings, Edinburgh, EH9 3JZ, UK
[http://www.dai.ed.ac.uk/homes/cam/]