Sat talking the other day with some mates, the conversation came round to what it was like when we were kids. Now I grew up in Bruntcliffe, a little village just outside Morley in West Yorkshire. It was a typical northern place, woollen mill, dye mill, 2 pubs, a workingman’s club, terrace houses, post office on the corner, a bakers and even a cobblers shop ho and a farm with slaughter house down the road.
Our house was a 2-up 1-down with outside lavvy, not what everyone thinks of as being ok today, but as kids we knew nothing else, and we had a fantastic time. Some of the things me and my brother got up to make me cringe now.
My grandma and granddad lived in the same village; granddad rented a piece of land and had a few chickens and a pig on it. We used to play on there; all was well with the world.
Now my granddad, dad, and Uncle Jim liked to have a bit of a, well how can I say it, a ‘thing going on. Nothing dodgy you understand, they never ripped anyone off, but would bend the law a bit if needed.
One day we were in the “piece” mucking about as usual, my dad, granddad and uncle Jim were waiting to do some work on a car for a bloke who lived in the village when up the path came a man in a really nice black suite, not something you see everyday in a field, so I could see it all over their faces that ‘summat was up!This was back in about 1964, then if you had a garage you paid rates on it, so, they didn’t have a garage, they had a hen hut, no rates on hen-huts you see. Well this fella said they had been tipped off that they had a garage and weren’t paying rates. You guessed it, granddad said “ho no, it's a hen-hut.” When he opened the door, sure enough there were about four dozen chickens walking about on a straw covered floor. You should have seen the look on this blokes face, it was a picture, talk about back peddling, he was all apologetic and couldn’t wait to get away. If only he had known.
Granddad gave him a guided tour or it all, the chickens in the hut, then down the field to the pig sty, nicely avoiding the set of ramps made from old railway sleepers hidden in the long grass. The sty was brick built and had a mash boiler in one corner. We collected ‘tatie peelings and verge cuttings from around the village, then they were boiled up to make a mash for the pig to eat. Well like most things in that “piece” it wasn’t quite what it first looked like. The mash tub could be lifted out and a set of bellows at the back turned it into a forge for heating bits of mettle, ready to be bashed straight.
While they were looking round up pulls the car for its service, now what? As the driver got out of the car, dad went over and asked was he going to the club? and to get a round in, they would be there in a bit. I think he guessed something was up; most folk in Bruntcliffe were a bit 'suss of anyone in a suit, and said he would but not to be long.
So off went the suit back down the path to his car, I bet he hadn’t got half a mile down the road when the big doors on the “hen hut” were opened, floor swept and boards lifted to reveal a pit complete with lights and lifting jack. At the back on the hut an old welsh dresser was moved, at the back of it was the work bench with pillar drill and lathe. It was better kitted out than most high street car repair shops.
ahrrr, they were good days, the car had its service, dad, granddad and uncle Jim split the dosh, can’t remember if we got anything from it, but you can bet if we did it would be a bottle of pop and bag a’ crisps at the local club. (Does anyone remember the orange fizzy pop that was in a round bottle that looked a bit like and orange? If you can remember what it was called let me know).
So was it a hen-hut or a garage? Well cars got mended and we ate eggs from the chickens in there. It could have been a garage with chickens, or a hen-hut big enough to get a car inside, so I suppose it was a bit of both, and they weren’t lying and shouldn’t have to pay rates.
There were loads more days like that, ‘happen I will write some of them at some point.
Stay safe and ride free
Dave.
