Archive for Benwell

Old School, Old Home

Posted in Biographical, History, Television with tags , , , , , on June 14, 2022 by telescoper

I’ve posted a few times posted about Benwell,  the part of Newcastle in which I grew up. For example I’ve posted about the little house where my first memories live here, and there’s an old photograph of it here:

The house itself (ours was the one on the left on this picture) was built of brick but to the left hand side you can just see a stone wall. The two cottages were demolished some time ago, along with Pendower School which was behind them as viewed from the picture.

I recently came across a picture of Pendower School taken sometime in the early 1990s when it was all boarded up and being sold for redevelopment.

The roof area with the fence around actually had a playground on it, used by Pendower Girls’ High school which occupied most of the building. The Infants and Junior schools which I attended were contained in the wing on the far right of the picture, the Infants downstairs and the Juniors upstairs. The school was built in 1929 and closed in 1992. It was used as a store for some time and then demolished.

The whole area including the school and the old cottages has now been covered with new houses, but for some reason they left the stone wall, part of which you can see to the left of the two cottages of the first picture. These were both taken from Ferguson’s Lane, which is immediately behind the stone wall to the left of the old photograph.



In the second picture you can see the filled in outlines of the door which led to our backyard (on the right) and (on the left) the holes through which the coalman used to deliver the coal that was the only form of heating in the house. There was no central heating and no heating at all upstairs, incidentally, so we had very cold bedrooms in winter!

Anyway, my excuse for reposting this trip down Ferguson’s Memory Lane is that I recently came across this fascinating picture taken from the West in 1897 of the old Benwell Village:


I had never seen this picture before but I am now quite sure from looking at street maps of the time that the houses you can see at the far left are in fact the cottages shown in the very first picture of this blog, including the one I lived in! I had never thought about it before, but notice how close the roofline is to the top of the first floor windows. Note also the wall separating them from the rest of the row as they were originally on a private estate.  In the background you can see Benwell Towers which, many years later, is where the TV series Byker Grove was filmed.

The row of houses you can see includes two pubs: The Hawthorn and The Green Tree. Both pubs survived in name though the newer premises were on opposite sides of the road when I lived there. These houses and pubs were all demolished long before I was born to make way for a road (Fox & Hounds Lane) which is basically continuation of Ferguson’s Lane but curving to the left.

A slightly better view from the early 1900s again shows the cottages on the far right. If you click to expand it you can see the drainpipe coming down the front of the house beside the first set of windows, exactly as in the first image on this blog.

Here’s a slightly different view of the same area, taken in 1920 and showing both sides of Ferguson’s Lane, again with Benwell Towers in the distance.

The lamppost is very useful for orienting these three images!

The cottages on the right no longer existed by the time I lived in Benwell: the new Hawthorn Inn stood at their location. At the far end of that row of houses was the old Smithy part of which became a dodgy garage called HQ Motors, which when I lived in the area was guarded by a very scary dog called Patch.

I never really knew what the old Benwell Village looked like. Now I have a much better idea, despite the fact the School the cottages and the pubs have now all vanished!

The Ghosts of Christmas Past

Posted in Biographical with tags , , , , on December 28, 2021 by telescoper

For the second year running I’ve spent Christmas at home in Ireland. It seems a very long time since I last visit my birthplace in the North East of England, which is where I usually went at this time of year. We often went for a spin around the countryside on Boxing Day and over the years I’ve posted a few pictures.

The last visit was in 2019, in fact, not long after my Mam died. Here’s a picture I took on Cresswell Beach, Northumberland on Boxing Day 2019.

The skies looked rather ominous, although I had no inkling at the time that the pandemic would come and put paid to any more yuletide travelling.

Looking at that picture reminded me of a few other Christmas memories of Newcastle and surrounds I’ve posted on here over the years. Here is one from 2012:

It may not look like much but that bit of wall is all that remains of the first house I remember living in, in Benwell, Newcastle upon Tyne. The house itself was demolished a long time ago, and a new estate now stands where it was. The door you can see bricked up used to lead into our back yard in which there was an outside toilet. You can also see two bricked up apertures to the left of the door, which were the coal holes.

This one was taken 10 years ago, and shows Warkworth Castle.

Here’s a closer view of Warkworth Castle from 2013:

This shows a rather busy Boxing Day on the beach at Cullercoats, with St George’s Church in the background, taken in December 2015. This one reminded me a bit of a painting by L.S. Lowry!

I wonder when (if ever) I’ll set foot in Northumberland again?

The Byker Grove Connection

Posted in Biographical, History, Television with tags , , , on September 21, 2016 by telescoper

One of the interesting things about having a blog that has been running for some time is that old posts continue to attract comments even after many years. Some of the posts that have been getting comments recently are about my early childhood growing up in Benwell which is to the West of Newcastle upon Tyne; you can find a couple of examples here and here. The place has changed beyond all recognition since I was a kid, which I suppose accounts for the fact that people are googling about looking for memories of what it used to be like.

Here is a Google Earth rendition of the area I grew up in..


We used to live in one of the two cottages right next to Pendower School, which was just off Fox and Hounds Lane.  You can see road that led to the front of our house, just between the text of “Benwell Village” and “Fox and Hounds Lane”.  The cottages and school are now demolished, and a housing development stands where they were. That’s all in the middle of the top of the image.

My Dad used to run a  shop which was was on the corner of Whickham View and Delaval Road, about halfway down the image to the left. The green strips to the East of Delaval Road and running parallel to it were all terraced when I lived there. Virtually everything has now gone, but it was a nice little community with old-fashioned little shops.

What drew my attention recently however, is that there is a location (to the top left of the image) marked Byker Grove., right next to where I used to live. When I was a lad that was  Benwell Towers, which we were told was haunted – presumably to scare us off trying to get in. There was a rather scary and formidable fence separating the grounds of Benwell Towers from the School, but it was not unknown for kids to climb it…

There have been buildings on the site of Benwell Towers since the 13th Century. A tower house was built there in 1221 and stood until it was demolished to make way for the current, much larger, building which was constructed in 1831. The old building was for a time owned by a branch of the Shafto family, of Bobby Shafto fame. At the time of the construction of the new building, Benwell hadn’t been engulfed by the westward sprawl of Newcastle itself and was very much a separate village. “Benwell Village” still felt like a distinct, self-contained community, when I was growing up there in the Sixties.

The “new” Benwell Towers was, for a time, the residence of the Bishop of Newcastle, but when I lived there it was being used as a base for the National Coal Board and used primarily as the Headquarters  of the Mine Rescue Service. There were some pits still open in those days.  When the Coal Board didn’t need it any more, it became a tacky nightclub called The Mitre

That’s all I knew about the place as I never really visited it again after going to University . But a chance comment on this blog followed by a Google Search revealed that when The Mitre closed the building was used to film the long-running TV series Byker GroveI knew about the programme, but had always assumed it was filmed in Byker (which is in the East End of Newcastle) rather than Benwell (which is in the West End). It certainly never occurred to me that it was made just a hundred yards from where I grew up. You live and learn.



Around the old home

Posted in Biographical with tags , , , on December 28, 2012 by telescoper

Back from a brief Christmas visit up North I thought I’d post a few snaps I took on our traditional Boxing Day spin around Northumberland. The weather wasn’t exactly marvellous, but it did at least stop raining for a while when we reached Amble  so we got out of the car and went for a stroll around the little harbour…



Although it was a cold and wet day it wasn’t too windy. They must be tough fishermen who go out into the North Sea in those little boats, but they’re friendly folk too – waving to us landlubbers as they came in and out of the harbour.

On the way home we stopped at Benwell, not a picturesque place but the part of Newcastle in which I was brought up. I’ve posted about the little house where my first memories live here, and there’s an old photograph of it here:

The house itself (ours was the one on the left on this picture) was built of brick but to the left hand side you can just see a stone wall. The two cottages were demolished some time ago, along with Pendower School which was behind them as viewed from the picture. The whole area has now been covered with new houses, but for some reason they left the stone wall. I hopped out of the car to take a couple of pictures, as this is all that remains of the first place I can remember living. These were both taken from Ferguson’s Lane, which is immediately behind the stone wall I mentioned earlier, i.e. to the left of the two cottages in the old photograph.



In the second picture you can see the filled in outlines of the door which led to our backyard (on the right) and (on the left) the holes through which the coalman used to deliver the coal that was the only form of heating in the house. There was no central heating and no heating at all upstairs, incidentally, so we had very cold bedrooms in winter!

Sad Streets

Posted in Biographical with tags , , , on December 15, 2009 by telescoper

I noticed yesterday that an old post of mine about my childhood in Benwell, Newcastle upon Tyne, was attracting some interest. It’s one of the interesting things about running a blog that, quite often, an old post you thought was dead seems to get someone’s attention who sends it  on to some others and then, all of a sudden, it’s getting dozens of readers. I’m not sure who or what was having a look at this particular one, but it did spur me on to try to dispel my hangover after the staff Christmas lunch by having a look around the web to see if anything new had turned up since I last posted about Benwell.

At first I was delighted to find this photograph, taken sometime in the sixties,  showing the old trolley bus terminus at Delaval Road. This view is eastwards, looking along Benwell Lane towards Newcastle itself. The road going south towards the river (to the right) is Delaval Road and the complicated system of wires overhead enabled the electrically powered trolley buses to turn around and head back into town. These buses were phased out when I was little, but I remember them quite clearly, especially the rather comical palaver involved in trying to keep them attached to the wires.

To the left of the picture you can see a wall with trees behind. This marked the southern end of a small wood (“The Spinney”) inside which was the small cottage we lived in. The road behind the camera, the continuation of Benwell lane, is Whickham View.

It was nice to see this picture. It made me all nostalgic. Benwell was never actually Belgravia, of course. It wasn’t at all a wealthy neighbourhood and parts of it were quite rough, but my childhood there was pretty happy and there was a real sense of community to the place, helped by the presence of lots of little shops and good transport links.

Now look at essentially the same view, taken in 2009.

Superficially, the area hasn’t changed that much but all the shops are boarded up and all the houses abandoned. Even the road itself is in a state of disrepair. In fact, all the once busy streets leading down towards the Tyne to the south of Benwell Lane are now quite deserted and the whole area scheduled for demolition. You can see many more pictures of this depressing scene here.

I moved away from Newcastle in 1982 when I went to University. I therefore missed the terrible effect that the recession of the 1980s had on the streets I had grown up in. It also had a direct effect on my father, who separated from my mother when I was about 12. He ran a small business selling educational supplies (paper, pens, art materials etc) to schools and pre-school playgroups. Most of it was wholesale but he also ran a small shop which, at first, was on Benwell Lane. In fact it was one of the two shops you can see by the light blue car in the first picture, although this snap was taken a while before he took it over. I think it was a cake shop before that.

After some modest success he moved just along the road a bit to slightly larger premises on the corner of Whickham View and Delaval Road, i.e. just to the right of where the camera is positioned on the opposite side of the road to the greengrocers.  He lived in a flat above this new shop, which formerly sold wool and was run by an old lady called Mrs Ludgate.

As time went on and the recession bit harder, the social and material fabric of Benwell gradually deteriorated. There were increasingly frequent burglaries and car thefts. It became a no-go zone at night. His  business started to fail and debts began to mount. The stress of watching the neighbourhood falling apart and coping with the constant threat of break-ins at the shop and his flat eventually got too much for him. He packed everything he could into his van and fled to the South coast to live with his sister in Weymouth, leaving the dilapidated shop and all his debts behind. I’m sure there’s a similar story behind all the other empty shops in Benwell.

Looking at these bleak photographs of the deserted streets and houses of my youth filled me with sadness, not least because they seem like portents of the future of British science. In ten years time will we all be poring over pictures of abandoned observatories and research labs?

A Friend of Dorothy

Posted in Biographical with tags , , on October 26, 2008 by telescoper

In my previous post about childhood memories of Benwell, one of the stones I left unturned was the story of our next door neighbour when we lived there. I was going to skip this because I feel quite guilty still, but on the grounds that it will probably be some form of catharsis I decided to write about it now.

In the other one of The Cottages I described in the previous post there lived an old lady, a spinster whose name was Dorothy Newton. She was already living there when we moved in next door and had, in fact, lived there for as long as she could remember. She had never married and had little experience of children, at least at the start. My first encounter with her wasn’t at all auspicious. I had accidentally kicked a football into her garden and without thinking about it at all, just went in and got it. As I picked it up I saw her looking out and, scared, I ran back to my house. Technically, I was trespassing and I assumed she was angry with me.

A bit later I had the chance to talk to her in her garden and she said she hadn’t minded, but that in future I should try not to trample her roses. I got to know her slowly and eventually started visiting her quite regularly. She became my “Aunty Dorothy”, although she obviously wasn’t actually a relative. This was before I started School so I would have been less than five years old. I’m told I called her something like “Ann Dorry” at that time because I couldn’t manage her full name.

Aunty Dorothy was an invalid, having suffered a fall on a trolley bus some years previously which resulted in permanent problems with both her legs. She got around on sticks at first and then, later on, needed to use a walking frame. If our house was basic, hers was downright primitive. At some point in the past (which she always referred to as “The Flood”) her roof had suffered a big leak and large amounts of water had got in and badly damaged half of her house. Since she never had money to repair it, the right-hand side of her cottage (out of shot in the picture in the previous post) was completely unusable. As she became more infirm she couldn’t manage the stairs and lived entirely from the ground floor room whose window you can see in the first photograph on my previous post. Her kitchen (which she called the “scullery”) was really Victorian in style, complete with old-fashioned walk-in pantry. And she too had an outside loo.

Life for Aunty Dorothy had, I think, always been tough and she lived a very humble existence but she had acquired an almost unimaginable sense of determination over the years as well as the ability to take huge amounts of pleasure from the small things in life. She had numerous accidents around the house – she was very prone to falls, and sometimes these left her lying for days on end before anyone found her – but she always recovered and carried on with her routine regardless. It took her ages to do even simple things but she never gave up and never complained.

As time went on she eventually found it impossible to leave the house, except for a spot of gardening, and lived an increasingly solitary life, apart from visits from the home help (whom she didn’t like at all) and the nurse who, amongst other things, helped her take a bath once a week.

When I started school a sort of routine developed. My mum and dad both worked at that time and weren’t home when school finished around 4pm. Since I had no distance to go to get home I would have to wait outside the house for one of them to return, so instead I called on Aunty Dorothy. We would sit and have tea (usually with jam or banana sandwiches). Sometimes we would watch the children’s TV programmes in black-and-white and sometimes we would just talk, until about 6pm when I would go next door to my own house. We had tea like that most days for about five years.

In the beginning I was, by any standards, an extremely backward child. I was very slow to learn to speak, which I didn’t even start to do do until I was three. I also had various physical problems, including a condition my mum always referred to as “spacky feet” which meant I had to visit an orthopaedic clinic from time to time. I’m not sure which particular deficiency was responsible, but it took me absolutely ages to learn to ride a bicycle. I think when I started School I was immediately earmarked as a likely basket-case from an educational point of view. In those days the slow kids didn’t really get much help; they sat at the back of the class and did raffia. I wonder how often these diagnoses turned out to be self-fulfilling, but I was definitely a misft from the start.

I think my parents might have mentioned to her that they were worried about my performance in school but whether or not they did, Aunty Dorothy started to take an active interest in my education. I didn’t realise it at the time but she did this in very clever ways. She started asking me to run errands for her to the local shops (which were very close). She would always send me for a single item and ask me to make sure I got the right change. I realise now that she basically invented these jobs to help me practice my arithmetic. I’m sure that myriad of little jobs, allied to the confidence that she obviously placed in me, helped me get over my difficulties with sums to the extent that, by the time I was 10, I even looked forward to Mr Martin’s mental arithmetic tests.

Aunty Dorothy was also keen on horse-racing, which she liked to watch on the telly. When I was a little older, she would sometimes ask me to work out the odds for her. I realised only later that she knew perfectly well how to work out what her winnings would be and this, like the little trips to the shops, was just a way of getting me to work things out myself. At the time, though, I was chuffed to feel I was helping.

Later on, when the dreaded decimalisation happened in the early 1970s she asked me to help with that, although this time I don’t think she was faking it. The pound was no longer 20 shillings, each containing 12 pence, but a simple 100 “new pence”. It may seem simple now but it was a difficult transition for the older generation. The old pound notes were still legal tender for a time, but some coins and rarer notes had to be swapped for the new versions, such as the ten-bob note (10 shillings) which was replaced by the 50p coin. The old shilling coin became the new 5p and the 2 bob was 10p, but there was no longer a place for the old threepenny bit or the sixpence (tanner). Aunty Dorothy once sent me to the post office with a couple of ten bob notes and brought her back the two coins, but she didn’t like them. Somehow you feel richer with paper money.

And then there was reading. I was very behind in developing my reading skills, just like everything else really, but here again Aunty Dorothy helped me enormously. Her eyesight wasn’t great but it wasn’t as bad as she pretended it was when she asked me to read carefully selected items from the Newcastle Evening Chronicle (which now has its own website) to her. On Sundays she got the Sunday Post, a Scottish newspaper which was quite popular on Tyneside in those days. It had a kid’s supplement which was really good, and I would avidly read the cartoons, especially Oor Wullie and The Broons, and do the puzzles.

After a time I had caught up with reading in class and eventually managed to read just about every book the School had to offer, including the Diaries of Samuel Pepys which were for some reason on the shelves in Class 2 and which I was allowed to borrow. I don’t think anyone had read them before so nobody, including the teachers, knew how rude they were. I had no idea at that time that less than ten years later I would be studying at Magdalene College Cambridge, site of the Pepys Library where the orignal diaries are kept as well as the rest of Pepys’ own collection of rare books.

Aunty Dorothy and I were close for many years, during which I underwent a transition from dimwit to high-flier (or at least the closest approximation to such a thing that Pendower School had ever produced). It wasn’t just her that helped me succeed academically – I also had many good teachers at Pendower School – but she certainly played an important part.

In due course my family moved from The Cottages to an ordinary semi-detached house (with an inside toilet) in Hodgkin Park Road but I carried on going to Pendower School, which was only half a mile away, and visiting my adopted Aunt as often as I could over the next few years even though I was no longer living right next door.

I remember during the time of the Miner’s Strike in 1974 when the country switched to a three day working week for a time, sitting in Dorothy’s house with only candles to light us, listening to her stories about the wartime blackout. She also told me that the strike was a good thing because it would probably bring down the hated Conservative government of Ted Heath. She was certainly right on that count.

I also remember that she had a peculiar suspicion about thunderstorms. If there was any sign of lightning in the area, she unplugged all the electrical equipment in the house and switched off all the lights. That much I think I can understand but, for reasons I never figure out, she also insisted on putting all metal objects (such as cutlery) away into drawers or covering them with a tablecloth if there wasn’t time to do that.

In 1974 I took the entrance examination at eleven-plus for the Royal Grammar School in Jesmond and was recommended by the Governors for the award of a scholarship. This was effectively a private school but the City Council paid the fees for a limited number of pupils who did well in the entrance examination. I therefore got a free place which is just as well since there’s no way my family could have afforded the fees. The following year, the new Labour government scrapped the arrangement and the School became fully independent but the Council agreed to carry on paying the fees for those students who were already there. I had got in by the skin of my teeth.

However, the RGS was (and is) in Jesmond, which is on the other side of the city to where I was living so I had to get the bus there and back every day, a journey that took over an hour in each direction. I also had lots of homework to do every night. The frequency of my visits to Aunty Dorothy decreased. Although I had promised to keep in touch with her as best as I could, I didn’t keep my word and after a year or so I stopped visiting her altogether.

I found out in 1978 that she had died in hospital after suffering yet another fall at her home from which this time she hadn’t recovered. I never had the chance to say goodbye and had never taken the time to tell her how grateful I was for all the help she had given me over the years.

Behind the Wall

Posted in Biographical with tags , , , on October 26, 2008 by telescoper

This photograph was taken in front of the little house in Benwell Village that I grew up in during the sixties. I’m on the left and my older brother Jeffrey is on the right. I don’t know when it was taken, but I was obviously just a young ‘un and it may actually have been before I started school. The house, as you can see, was quite small – basically two rooms on either side of each floor (each with one window) and with a kitchen at the back of the ground floor and a small bathroom upstairs. There was a similar house next door (of which you can see a part) and together these two were called “The Cottages”.

I wasn’t actually born in Benwell, which lies to the West of Newcastle upon Tyne, but in Walker which is to the East. However, we moved there when I was very young and all my earliest memories are from Benwell. Its name, incidentally, is derived from Hadrian’s Wall which ran from Wallsend (near to Walker) through the area covered by the modern city (which is built on the site where there has been a large town since mediaeval times), and west towards Carlisle. The whole area is littered with ruined forts, temples and mile stations and occasional pieces of the wall itself can be found between peoples’ gardens or next to modern roads; good examples include the fort at Condercum and the nearby temple which was right next to the wall itself. Benwell lies just to the south of the wall, hence its name which is a corruption of “Bynnewalle” meaning “behind the wall” and the oldest historical record of Benwell is from the 11th century, before the Norman conquest.

Our house was a strange place to grow up in primarily because of its location. Immediately behind The Cottages was Pendower School (Infants and Juniors) which I attended between the ages of 5 and 11. My trip to School in those days was about twenty yards, which made it quite difficult to think of excuses for being late. The other kids entered through the official gates on Pendower Way to the North or from Benwell Village itself to the West; I just had to turn left at the end of the garden and walk around the Cottages and I was there in the playground.

Pendower School was an austere, rather ugly,  building of Dickensian aspect but it was very well run by the Headmaster, Mr Brown, and had several very good teachers. I particularly remember Mrs Locke, Miss Stobbs and Mr Martin; the latter was a dapper fellow with a military moustache who was particularly good at drawing and painting as well as being hot on mental arithmetic, which we did every morning in class between 9 and 9.30 during my last year at Junior School. You know the sort of thing: “If it takes ten men three hours to fill a swimming pool with water using two buckets each, how long would it take two men each with one bucket?” This was Britain pre-decimalisation too, so we had to do mental arithmetic not only with pounds shillings and pence but also hundredweights, stones, pounds and ounces, gallons quarts and pints, rods poles and perches. Those were the days. Mr Brown the Headmaster didn’t take any classes but he insisted that we all did music and at assembly and during lunch he frequently played us classical music from an old gramophone. He particularly liked Purcell.

The School I attended (which had both boys and girls in it) shared its building with a school for older girls, but they were strictly separated from the youngsters, both inside and in the playground. There mustn’t have been enough space for the girls’ school so there were some outbuildings in the form of wooden huts at the edge of the playground, just to the right of The Cottages (from the viewpoint of the photograph). These were evidently for art lessons. I never went inside and was too small to look in through the windows, but they didn’t have very good drains and often the ground outside them was covered with brightly coloured mud resulting from botched attempts to dispose of paint that had ended up blocking up the pipes. The road our bikes are on in the picture was a sort of access road to allow deliveries to be made to these huts, but there were big metal gates (to the left) that were usually locked preventing access most of the time making this bit of road a good place to learn how to ride a bike, although I still hadn’t graduated from a tricycle when this picture was taken, for reasons that will become obvious later.

In front of The Cottages (i.e. behind the photographer’s position in the first picture) was a small wood called “The Spinney” which was enclosed on all sides by walls. In the slightly older picture to the right, which was taken from the garden looking south, you can see a little of the wood and some sheds that were later removed when the road was widened. This one was taken on my birthday, I think, but I don’t know which year it was.

Originally the two cottages were intended to house people who worked in a grand house at the south end of the Spinney which had been destroyed by fire some time before we moved in. The ruins of the house were still there for some time and they were the source of considerable fascination for me until eventually the council demolished what was left, carted the debris away and landscaped it over. That’s probably just as well as it was undoubtedly a dangerous place for a small child to be wandering about on his own.

The Spinney was probably about 100 yards square. The Cottages were in the northwest corner facing south, with Pendower School forming the rest of the northern edge, Benwell Lane to the south, where the entrance to the big house used to be, and Ferguson’s Lane as it passed through Benwell Village (past Block’s garage and the Hawthorn Inn) to the west. To the east was the former residence of the Bishop of Newcastle, another grand house called Benwell Towers, which, when I lived in Benwell, was being used a base for the Mine Rescue Unit, a specialist emergency service for the many coal mines that still operated in the area. Just a few years later all the mines were finished and Benwell Towers was flogged off to become a tacky nightclub. Since the house was supposed to have been haunted, the nightclub took the name of the ghost: The Silver Lady. This was all after we had moved away from the area.

So you will see that I lived in an unusual place when I was little: on the edge of the School playground, with my own private wood to play in, and with a haunted house only about 100 yards away!

On the far left of the original picture, which was taken facing north, you can see that there was a high wall running down the western side of the garden of our house. This carried on down the side of the house to the back where it formed the wall surrounding our back yard. There was both a door and a coalhole the size of a window in this wall, the one leading into the yard and the other to allow coal to be delivered directly from the street outside (Ferguson’s Lane) into the coalhouse, the place where it was stored. Coal provided the only heating in the house, including the hot water which was heated by a boiler behind the fires downstairs. There was no heating in the bedrooms at all and during the winter it was quite normal for there to be ice on the inside of our bedroom windows.

The backyard was also where our toilet was situated. Outside toilets (“netties”) are definitely a thing of the past but they weren’t at all unusual when and where I lived. There were only two problems with ours. One that there was no electric light so if you had to go at night it was necessary to take a paraffin lamp. The smell of paraffin always brings a memory of that back to me. I often think that if Marcel Proust had my background, A La Recherche de Temps Perdu wouldn’t have been full of that boring stuff about cakes. The other problem was the rats which frequented the area. The toilet door didn’t go all the way to the ground; there was a gap of an inch or so through which rats would sometimes poke their noses while you were on the bog, presumably attracted by the light. We kept a shovel in the loo to fetch down on the intruding rodents if they appeared. I never hit one, although I tried quite a few times. With the prospect of a rat appearing at any minute you didn’t hang around to do your business and were unlikely to need a laxative.

We had few of the comforts that people take for granted these days but my family wasn’t any worse off than any of those whose kids went to the same school as me. We always had enough food (as you can tell from the photograph), so we never thought of ourselves as being particularly poor. But it is true to say that our living conditions were pretty basic. We didn’t own the house, which I think was owned by the City Council (who also owned the Spinney), but our rent was very cheap because of the state it was in.

I go back to Newcastle from time to time, usually at Christmas. During one such visit I had the opportunity to pass through Benwell and look at where I used to live. Benwell is a grim place these days, devastated by crime and social disorder, which is depressing because I have such happy memories of the place. Even more traumatically, from a personal point of view, I realised that The Cottages, The Spinney and even Pendower School have all completely vanished.

The buildings were demolished and the little bit of woodland I used to play in ploughed up to make way for a new housing estate. The only thing that remains is a small piece of our wall, where the coalhole used to be, and behind which, forty years ago, a small boy sat, shovel in hand, hoping the rats would stay away.