The market is one institution that has never lost its popularity and has thus proved a good source of revenue for the town. This postcard from 1908 has many interesting features, not least the pleasantly-designed gas lamp in the foreground which would now form a collector’s item. The cattle pens were once filled with beasts brought across on the Irish boats. These have gone, as have the old wooden buildings, which were replaced with a market hall built of Longridge stone. The Whitworth Institute, with steep pitched roof and tall chimneys at its gable ends, became the Fielden Free Library.

‘Open every evening’ refers to the Queen’s Theatre, which billed the celebrities of the day and where lectures and sometimes meetings were held. Land and market rights were eventually sold to the town for £6,750 in 1889, the Commissioners driving a hard bargain, for £500 of that for slaughterhouses.

 Image and text © Catherine Rothwell.

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An article in our last month’s issue brought memories flooding back for Fleetwood man Frank Bee.

In her feature on the town’s Victoria Street, historian Bill Curtis wrote about the buildings in and around this old part of Fleetwood.

Mr Bee, or Dronsfield Road, was born in Victoria Street and spent many of his childhood years in the area.

Brought up by his widowed mother – his father died when he was three – Mr Bee remembers many of the families who lived in Victoria Street.

“We lived there in the 1920s and 1930s. I was the eldest of four boys (one young brother later died when he fell in the boating lake and another died in a drowning tragedy in the River Wyre in 1975),” he explained.

The family lived in the section between the market and North Albert Street. “Neighbours included police sergeant Hart, Miss Dunderdale, the Hayes family, my grandad and grandma Holden, a couple called Smith and an old couple who made excellent ice cream and sold it to the local children.

“Then there was Nellie Jackson who had a sweet shop – she was sister-in-law to Bert Jackson who was a contender for the British featherweight boxing title.

“Across the road between Aughton Street and Custom House Lane lived Bert Jackson’s parents, a lady called Nellie Bolton – who knew all the local gossip – and granny Eaves who used to sit on a stool at her front door.

“Two Robinson families lived in Victoria Street – one near Albert Fould’s Dome of Discovery.

“There was a shop occupied by the Picken family. Mr Picken had a lathe in his cellar and made rollers for mangles.

“Being the eldest lad, I remember I had to turn our washing mangle at home before I could go out to play. I suppose it was only about 10 minutes but to me it seemed an eternity,” he said.

“In the street was also a family called Houston – Billy Houston was bowman on the lifeboat.

“There was a lady called Emmie Stoney and the Smith family.

“The Burns family moved in and started a bakery business.

“A cake shop – on the corner of Custom House Lane – was run by the Jackson family.

“Of course there was the prawn house – in full production in those days – with 4 of my aunties and my mother working there.

“My mother Elsie was the first girl to work in the prawn house shop.”

Mr Bee said he used to go to the prawn house with a “bass” to collect shrimps for picking at home.

“We had to pick for an hour before we went to school and again before we went out to play at tea-time.

“If we were caught eating one there was trouble. My grandma sat at the head of the table surrounded by the rest of the family. It was our only source of income – apart from 21 shillings a week from mother’s widow’s pension which she received after dad died in 1928. He had served in the First World War, been taken prisoner and I don’t think he recovered from that,” added Mr Bee.

“Our rent was 21 shillings and when mother asked our landlady to reduce it by one shilling she refused.

“But I can picture my grandma now – she kept an old-fashioned wooden hairbrush at her right hand.

“Anyone pinching a prawn got a rap across the knuckles,” said Mr Bee and admitted he often suffered from rapped knuckles.

“I also remember taking picked prawns back to the prawn house where of course you had to weigh them in. I was carrying them in a big enamel bowl covered with a towel and I sneaked a few prawns before I got there.

“When I got home and told my mother the weigh-in figure she smacked me across the face – she knew it was short measure!

“Sometimes I thought she must have counted the prawns we picked!” added Mr Bee who said there were quite a few families in the area supplementing their income by prawn picking. “Most of us lads also worked on the nearby market.

“I worked for a farmer called Tom Shorrocks from Wesham – just helping loading and unloading his van.

“He paid in kind – eggs or bits of chicken, potatoes or vegetables. But worth a lot to us.

“It was a close knit community – everyone was friends with everyone else. You could leave your front door open and neighbours used to pop in and out,” recalled Mr Bee.

One memory of Victoria Street is of girls singing all day long in the prawn house.

“We used to help push the cart up and over the railway bridge at the top of Adelaide Street to get the prawns off the boats.

“We carried the baskets to the carts and pushed them back to the prawn house for a feed of ‘throw-outs’,” he added.

When Shirleys’ Cycles opened two of the Bee brothers – Ben and Ken – were among the first customers.

“In those days you bought different parts each week when you could afford it and built up the bicycle – it could take months.”

Another family in the “Street” were the Robbins. “There was a son Bill and daughter Edith.

“I remember Bill was a good boxer and took part in many fights in the market hall when it was used regularly for boxing.

“Yes your article last month certainly stirred memories for my brother Ben and myself,” said Mr Bee.

The family came from Hambleton – great great grandfather Bee moving to Fleetwood in the 1809s with 21 children!

They moved into Aughton Street and an alleyway nearby for the nickname “Bee’s Back”.

“They were hard days – but on reflection happy days,” said Mr Bee.

First published in Life in Fleetwood issue 15, December 1991.

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Towards the end of the 19th century transport in Fleetwood was nice and leisurely, the fastest things on the roads were horses, and they were not making any holes in the ozone even though they did leave more trademarks than today’s dogs do. But in those days their trademarks were worth having, and kids used to be sent out by their Dads to collect this harvest of droppings for use on the garden. One old Fleetwood resident once confided to me that he liked to put it on his rhubarb. “Silly beggar,” said his wife with a giggle, “I’d rather have custard on mine!”

But when, in the early 1809s, Blackpool Corporation was experimenting with an electric tramway service along the Promenade to cope with the hordes of visitors, Fleetwood watched with careful interest, for they were anxious to encourage Blackpool’s visitors to come to Fleetwood and for Fleetwood’s visitors to be able to go to Blackpool quickly and easily. The usual method of travel between the two towns for visitors was by means of horse-drawn landaus which were slow and costly, prohibiting the trip to all but the well-to-do. A cheaper method was by train, but that was still fairly expensive, being 9d (5p) each way and the trains were not all that frequent, or easy to get at.

From the start Blackpool had trouble with their tramway system, and Fleetwood was canny enough to keep a watching brief while Blackpool struggled to solve their problems, the main one being how to find a fool-proof way of getting the electricity to the trams. For aesthetic reasons people did not want overhead cables. Electricity, gas and water went underground, they said, not overhead. What if someone caught their umbrella in the wires overhead and were electrocuted? Well, unless they were caught by a very high wind and blown up in the air, that did seem a little unlikely, but to those who hated overhead wires any probability was a good excuse. So initially the supply came from conduits in the centre of the tracks in the road, but being on the coast and subject to high winds, the conduits were forever filling with sand and were useless. There were many other problems as well and reluctantly Blackpool abandoned the conduit system, going back to horse-drawn trams until they could decide on something better.

Fleetwood, however, saw nothing wrong with the overhead cable system, pooh-poohing the idea of people being electrocuted this way, and in 1897 the Blackpool and Fleetwood Tramway Company was formed. (Despite its name it had nothing at all to do with the Blackpool Corporation tramway service.) In July that year 400 navvies moved into the town to start laying the tracks down the centre of West Street and East Street, but as it was the middle of the season there was virtually no accommodation for such a large crowd of workmen, and many of them were glad to sleep on the floor of apartment houses paying 4d or 6d a night for the privilege of doing so.

Twelve months later at 2am in the morning of July 13th 1898 the residents who lived on West Street and East Street were wakened by what sounded like a herd of elephants squealing their way down the main street and, with mixed feelings (which some people still have), realised that the tramway had come to Fleetwood, for this was the trial run of the first tram. Later that day two tram loads of VIPs set off from Dickson Road in Blackpool for Fleetwood. The tram had to pass a protest demonstration from owners of horse-drawn landaus and other means of transport, but it arrived in Fleetwood amid the cheers of large crowds and afterwards the VIPs had a lunch in the newly opened Mount Hotel. The service was not universally welcomed, all the clergymen from the churched on West Street and East Street complained that the noise of the trams was drowning out their Sunday sermons. But short of shouting a bit louder there was not a great deal they could do about it, for the trams were here to stay.

The coastal tram ride caught on immediately with both Blackpool and Fleetwood visitors, and became so popular that it worried not only the landau owners but also the railway company who took a poor view of this new opposition. They reduced the train fare and increased the number of trains, so the tramway company retaliated by running express trams for a return fare of 10d (5p) and the great attraction of the 8 mile high speed tram ride along the coast – there were only three stops between Gynn and Fleetwood – was irresistible and the Fleetwood to Blackpool service became the most profitable tramway service in the country. Which probably did not please Blackpool at all as it merely took heir visitors out of the town and was of no benefit to the Blackpool amusement caterers or rate-payers.

In Fleetwood the cables were carried by the ornamental arms of posts in the middle of the road and when Blackpool saw that they did, indeed, look quite attractive and were completely successful, they decided to ignore the critics and follow suit, altering all their tracks accordingly. (Isn’t it nice to know that sometimes Fleetwood leads the way even to Blackpool?!) At that time Blackpool were using young bots and youths as guards and drivers for their trams and were, unaccountably, losing money on the service. The youngsters were paid very low wages and – perish the thought – could they have been making up their own wages from the fares? – but the Fleetwood Tramway company employed men, paying them the then very high wage of 24s6d (£1.22 and a half new pence), with a vigilant ticket and inspection routine, thus ensuring that the company got the major part of the takings. Further along the cost Lytham, too, was trying its own tramway service using trams which were powered by gas but the power was not enough to get a fully loaded tram over the railway bridges along Lytham Road and for those occasions passengers had to get out and help to push the tram over the bridges! A practice not always appreciated by a well-dressed passenger!

The terminus for the Fleetwood tram was on North Albert Street just past the cottage hospital, with depots on Copse Road and Red Bank Road at Bispham (where Sainsbury’s now are). From North Albert Street the trams ran along the coast to Dickson Road in Blackpool, and passengers wanting to carry on along the Blackpool promenade had to change at the Gynn from the Fleetwood tram to the Blackpool tram. At the Fleetwood terminus the company built a depot for four trams with a waiting room and office on the land behind the North Euston Hotel. It was also intended that there would be a refreshment room there and outside was to be a turning loop but neither of these ideas were carried out. Along the route brick built stations were erected and were identical to each other, the only one of these now remaining is the one outside Rossall School, but the ones at Cleveleys and Bispham were exactly the same in size and design. These stations were fitted with toilets and at each was a uniformed official whose duty was to help ladies on and off the vehicle and to assist with the luggage. What a difference today – if you ask some conductors to help you, you usually find he suffers from terminal deafness! (Not all, I hasten to add, some conductors are very kind and helpful.)

In 1899 there were plans to run a tram to Poulton from Blackpool and then on to Thornton and back to Cleveleys, a circular tour which would have certainly been popular, but like so many ambitious enterprises it never got off the ground, although another Grand Tour was actually started, however. For 2s7d (twelve and a half new pence) you could take a tram from Blackpool to Fleetwood, cross to Knott End by ferry boat, continue by road on a charabanc to Pilling, catch a train to Garstang and then by coach back to the starting point. Whether this journey took too long or was too expensive is not recorded, but I don’t think the idea survived very long. Now they are talking of reviving the service – well, nearly. It is thought that when the barrage across the Wyre is complete a tram will run from Fleetwood across the barrage to Knott End. Which may, or may not, please the Knott Enders. But when the barrage will be completed is another question again.

In 1919 the Blackpool and Fleetwood Tramway Company decided to sell out, offering the service to Fleetwood Borough Council, who turned the offer down. Instead it was bought by Sir Lindsay Parkinson who sold it to Blackpool Corporation without making any personal profit, and from that date the Blackpool Corporation and the Blackpool and Fleetwood Tramway services were united.

Later, in 1924, the trams were re-routed past Bold Street, and the Ferry office and on to Pharos Street, thus avoiding the need for the loop. This meant that the spot behind the Euston was no longer required, although it had a brief period of fame when, in 1969, it was the home for a couple of years of the famous Fisherman’s Friend tablets which were made there before moving to their present factory on Copse Road. Virtually all traces of the Blackpool and Fleetwood tramway service have now gone but fortunately the service continues and brings thousands of visitors each year to Fleetwood, benefiting the traders and the market, and there is an affectionate reminder of those early days in the annual and highly popular Tramway festival.

When the Fleetwood Tramway service started, the first tram went down the main street at 6am in the morning (to the annoyance of the residents who lived above the shops), and the drivers on the early shift were usually up and about by five a.m. for they had to walk to the depot. These were the days before Yale locks, doors being locked with large mortice-type keys. One of the tram drivers who lived in Pharos Street was in the habit of calling for his friend, another driver who lived in Kent Street to find his friend on his knees on the pavement in front of his closed front door fiddling with a piece of wire under the door.

“What on earth is’t'a up to?” asked the chap from Pharos Street, watching the struggles of his friend. The chap in Kent Street stood up saying, “Well, when I comes out in a morning, I locks t’front door and shoves t’key through the letter box, so when t’wife gets up she can unlock t’door and get out to go shopping.”
“Well?” asked his mystified friend. “What’s tha problem?”
“I’m a silly b….r,” said the other man sheepishly, “I’ve come out of t’house and shoved key through t’letter box without locking t’door, so now I’m trying to get key out from under t’door with this bit of wire, so I can lock t’door properly.”

His friend scratched his head over this problem for a minute or two and then with a smile triumphantly pointed to the downstairs window and said, “Tha daft ha’poth, there’s an oppen window there, why doesn’t t’a climb through that and get t’key from inside?”

Nothing daft about Fleetwood folk!

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Seated on one of Fleetwood’s old cannons is Jeff Wright, amongst a group of cheerful lifeboatmen, from a postcard printed in 1933. Standing (left to right) are Dick Abram, ‘Coosh’ Bill Wright, Jim Leadbetter, Dick Wright (son of ‘Coosh’), Sid Hill and Barry Bond. Alongside Jeff is Bill Houston. Leadbetters, Wrights, Wilsons and Rimmers, some of Fleetwood’s earliest residents as fishermen, also played heroic parts as lifeboatmen. Robert Wright, coxswain for 16 years, helped to save 200 lives.

Jeff Wright served for 53 years, commencing at the age of 16, to become coxswain at 60. Jeff’s last trip on the lifeboat was made when he was 69. His first craft was the Maude Pickup and he delivered the first motor powered lifeboat, Sir Fitzroy Clayton, in 1933, which may be the occasion of this postcard.

Image and text © Catherine Rothwell.

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Shown in this postcard from the beginning of the century are two of Sir Decimus Burton’s most famous Fleetwood building, the North Euston Hotel and the Lower Lighthouse on the right. The “keep off the grass” notice is being disobeyed, although the top-hatted gentleman approaching in the distance, who may have been a Town Commissioner, would perhaps see to its enforcement.

The blinds of the hotel are drawn as at that time the building was empty. In 1861 it had become Euston Barracks, the first detachment of officers arriving at the new School of Musketry.

In those days the original crescent shape included Bellevue House, built on the corner of Bold Street in 1845. This house belonged to George Laurie, chemist, and was occupied by the Reverend St Vincent Beechey, first incumbent at St Peter’s Church.

Image and text © Catherine Rothwell.

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When the circus came to Fleetwood as elsewhere it used to be a very big event. The boys and girls had a day off school and walked out as far as Burn Hall to meet it and watch the grand procession later on. At night attempts would be made to slip unobserved under the canvas of the Big Top. Clearing up after the circus with its elephants, camels and many horses was a Herculean task.

Hoadley and Sons made stops at selected Fylde villages including Fleetwood, the swingboats and roundabouts being the most popular items of all. Coconut shies, rolling pennies and shooting at targets came a close second. The wooden horses with red, flaring nostrils were beautifully carved and today, together with fairground engines, are much sought after.

The picture from 1912 gives some idea of the primitive caravans of wagons employed in journeying from one pitch to another and suggest a spartan life for those brothers of the road who followed such a calling.

Image and text © Catherine Rothwell.

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Many thousands of years ago, Lancashire’s coast line was 50 to 60 feet higher than it is today and geological research proves the existence of submarine forests.

This land covered with oak, birch, fir and ash must have been the stamping ground of wild boar and wolf. Amongst the sandbanks we now see off Fleetwood and the Fylde Coast, roots and trunks of trees have been found. There is little evidence of Neolithic times but sparse settlements of Celtic races and visits from the ‘Northmen’ or Scandinavian raiders occurred.

On the opposite bank of the River Wyre, facing what became Fleetwood-on-Wyre, Northman Haakon set up his longhouse which came down to us as Hackensall Hall.

Possibly the Romans were here. A road typical of their making was found beneath sand when Fleetwood’s sea wall was made. Some believe that this road connected the ancient harbour of Portus Setantiorum at the mouth of the Wyre. Known as Danes Pad and passing through Fylde villages towards Poulton and Kirkham, alongside it have been unearthed spears, axes, coins, urns and a shield boss, the latter now in the British Museum.

The land on which Fleetwood stands belonged to the wapentake or hundred of Amounderness mentioned in William the Conqueror’s Domesday Book of 1086.

Three pages of Latin abbreviations and strange yet recognisable spellings tell that the region was sparsely populated, laid waste and the property of baron Roger de Poictou, his share in the spoils as one of William’s mercenaries at the Battle of Hastings. He was later banished and Amounderness given to Theobald Walter, another Norman and founder of Cockersand Abbey, across the river from Fleetwood.

Over the centuries, the land passed to the Crown but Henry VIII sold it in the course of the dissolution of the monasteries. Edmund Fleetwood was the first of the name to reside at Rossall Hall as lord of the manor but it was his descendant Peter Hesketh who put Fleetwood on the map. Interestingly, it was another descendant who, with others, signed King Charles I’s death warrant. He was called General George Fleetwood.

In the 1830s Peter Hesketh’s Rossall estate was a desolate tract, home of thousands of rabbits and sea birds.

A line of marram-grass clad dunes culminating in the Mount of today disappeared, for the sea continually encroached. Extensive flooding occurred in 1833 when cattle and horses were drowned and outbuildings at Rossall Hall were damaged.

However, Peter, lord of the manor, High Sheriff of the County of Lancashire (later to be knighted and change his name to Sir Peter Hesketh Fleetwood) had good reasons for believing that the site held the makings of a busy sea port and popular resort.

A river mouth, a natural sheltered harbour (‘safe as Wyre Water’ passed into the folklore), golden sands, sea, air like wine and breath-taking views across Morecambe Bay on clear days. All that lacked was a railway from busy Preston.

In the face of deep personal sadness and heavy financial loss he determined to make Fleetwood a success.

A single line railway from Preston opened on 15th July, 1840, following the formation of the Preston and Wyre Railway, Harbour and Dock Company. In the meantime, houses, hotels and wharf had been built. It was essentially a planned town, unlike others flung up during the Industrial Revolution.

A famous architect and friend of Peter’s (as was Queen Victoria), Decimus Burton had wide thoroughfares marked out by plough, radiating from the Mount which was grassed over.

Originally Starr Hill, the highest in the chain of dunes, it became a focal point. A summer house was placed on top from which Esau Carter Monk, one of the first town commissioners, dispensed refreshments.

The North Euston Hotel and the lovely Regency houses on Queen’s Terrace were part of the brave design. (To discover where Sir Decimus Burton took a house, consult the Fleetwood Town Trail).

As the new town grew with houses, shops, church, school and boarding houses visitors crowded in for sea-bathing, scenery, sands and dancing in the Mount hollow. Trips for workers’ regattas were planned. Wealthy visitors stayed on Upper Queen’s Terrace from three weeks to three months. Breakfast at the North Euston was two shillings, a bedroom four shillings a day.

During Whitsuntide Week of 1844 thousands of tripper travelled on the half fares offered by the railway company. Figures topped 60,000, the largest Sunday School trip in 1846 carrying 4,200 in 56 carriages pulled by 2 engines.

These were boom years, but a branch line to Blackpool later persuaded large numbers away from Fleetwood. Peter’s unscrupulous agent, Frederick Kemp, also contributed to his failing fortune.

Although never a declared bankrupt, that was to be the fate of his only surviving child Louis, Peter had expended so much of a large fortune he had to lease out and later sell Rossall Hall. The sale of goods lasted a fortnight. He went abroad and later settled in Brighton.

Control was rested in the township. Improvement Acts for starting the famous market, for paving, lighting and cleansing were passed. Isle of Man sailings were extended, steamers travelled to Londonderry, Belfast and Ardrossan. A fleet of fishing smacks built up the town’s reputation for hake catches.

Fleetwood became the third largest fishing port in the country. Two lighthouses and the fearless reputation of its lifeboat men made news in many a fierce storm. In a short history, important events have to be omitted but the visit of Queen Victoria in 1847 made headlines in the Illustrated London News showing the sweep of Queen’s Terrace and much of Burton’s architecture as backdrop for the crinolines.

The Dock, costing £250,000, was opened in 1877, the sea defences completed in 1962. The worst flood occurred in 1927 when six people died. In 1933 Fleetwood became a Borough and with attractions and amenities increasing, it rates high for a healthy family holiday.

Hostage of the Cod Wars, commercial fishing has inevitably declined but an indefinable, raw quality, a sense of history is floated in the oyster catchers’ calls as the tide ebbs. The pioneering thoughts of Sir Peter or the anxious thoughts going out to trawler men on winter seas in their dangerous calling? A nostalgic compounding of many things, Fleetwood-on-Wyre remains a fascinating place with a great past and hopefully a great future.

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It was not long after the demotion of the west side of Victoria Street that the Police station came under the bull-dozers, along with the old prawn shop. The Police station was transferred to a new building in Claremont Terrace behind that monstrosity of a Magistrates court. It may look very nice inside, I haven’t been in to look around, but the outside of the building is absolutely dreadful, and I bet some architect thinks it is the bees’ knees, and who on earth thought of putting it on a prime site on the promenade?

Before the station in Victoria Street came down I went inside to photograph the interior and was struck by the completely Victoria atmosphere of the building, it really should have been preserved as an encapsulated piece of Police history of nearly 100 years ago, and would have fascinated and possibly served as a salutary lesson for today’s youngsters. The bench in the courtroom was a magnificent piece of polished mahogany and had silver fittings on it, silver ink-wells and ornate light fittings which had originally been gas-list and then covered to electricity. There were beautiful curved wood beams in the roof and a narrow winding staircase led to the cells down below, giving a pungent meaning to the phrase: “Take home down, Constable” after an unfavourable sentence had been passed. I don’t suppose many prisoners in the dock surveyed the scene with as much pleasure as I did, though.

The cells themselves were small, and extremely uncomfortable looking and one (kept specially for drunks) had a narrow hard bunk bed which was tilted at an impossible angle. I think many a drunken seamen must have thought he was on a ship with a permanent list to starboard!

Not a lot of people know that Fleetwood is now on its fourth Police station. Even four and a half if you count a temporary period in North Albert Street while repairs and redecorations were being carried out to the main station. The first one was in Flag Street and was, in fact, where the local bobby lived and before they pulled down Flag Street you could see where a window which had been barred was bricked up, presumably the room where prisoners had been held before being taken to court, which in those days was probably in Poulton. When the constabulary was transferred to the County a handsome new station was built in Lord Street on the same side as, and not far from, the Testimonial School, and you can still see the County crest on the wall. But as the town grew and more police were taken on larger premises were needed and the station in Victoria Street was built on the site of the old cattle market and incorporated court-rooms at the back overlooking the “desert” area of the open market.

One of our customers was a bobby who lived near the football ground and one night when he was on night duty and was out on his beat, he began to feel cold and wished he had brought his overcoat with him. Being close to his house he decided to hip home and get his coat, but when he got there he found he had left his keys at the station and, although the house was in darkness and his wife obviously in bed, he thought she would not mind being wakened, so he threw a few small pebbles at the bedroom window and when she opened it and leaned out he called up in a loud whisper so as not to waken the neighbours, “Throw my overcoat down, love, it’s cold out here.” A few minutes later a coat landed on his head and with muttered thanks he put it on and continued on his beat. When he got back to the station for his break, a young colleague looked at him and said, “Congratulations, Tom. I didn’t know you’d got made up to Sergeant!”

When we were making road safety films and training programmes we worked a lot with the police and always found them very dedicated and helpful, tolerating far more from the public than I would have done. Time and again I have been amazed at the amount of aggravation they have put up with and I sometimes wonder if a return to the approach of the old time bobbies, such as that I mentioned a couple of months ago, wouldn’t hurt again for a while (coupled with a bit of good strong parental control, of course). I appreciate that sometimes a heavy handed bobby went a bit too far, but the pendulum seems to have swung too much the other way nowadays, and unfortunately the kids know it, often taunting the police with their ineffectiveness. I, myself, have often complained about the vandalism of the Mount Pavilion at night by youngsters, but as the police say, if they catch the kids what can they do with them? And, of course, the kids know that. As I am writing this the Mount Clock (which is a memorial to the men of Fleetwood who lost their lives in the first world war, men who gave their lives so these youngsters could live) is out of order because it has been vandalised.

However, I digress. We made one safety programme at the request of the police force warning children not to speak to strangers and we wanted a man to play the part of a “stranger” presumably with evil intentions. We had quite a job persuading someone to play this part as no one wanted to, thinking they may be recognised in the street and thought to be a villain who molested children! A local bobby, George Dunn, a charming man dedicated to his family, played one of the main parts and played it very convincingly. Later he took up community work and did a great job. Many of our local bobbies work with handicapped people and youth groups and do a wonderful job under what are often extremely difficult circumstances.

For a long time there were discussions and rumours about what would happen to the old police station of what would be put in its place, but eventually the matter was settled that it would be demolished and the space used for the new market making it, I would think, now one of the largest markets in the north of England. From the customers’ point of view, the new market is very much better, with more attractive stalls and wider aisles and even the outside section looks nicer. But from what I hear not all the stallholders are that enchanted with the change, but there must be pros and cons and they are at the receiving end after all, aren’t they?

At one time when 8mm films were popular, we used to hire out films for customers to show in much the same manner as video films are now hired, but we would never touch “naughty” or pornographic films although we were often asked for them. A customer of ours, and very much a “character”, who was a market smallholder and knew our views on the subject came in the shop one day to hire a screen and projector, saying he had bought in Blackpool – and here he winked and nudged – a film to show his fellow stallholders – men only, of course – in one of the nearby garages. He charged them £1 a head (a lot of money then), and eagerly he carried off the screen and projector for the afternoon’s entertainment. When he brought it back, he slammed the equipment down in disgust, clearly very cross. I asked what was the matter, had they not enjoyed the film? “Enjoyed it?” he exclaimed. “The film started off with one minute of gorgeous dancing girls and then went on to be a Mickey Mouse film for the rest of the half-hour! I nearly got lynched and had to give everyone their money back, and what with the hire of this stuff and the cost of the film I’m very much out of pocket.” And he stamped of in a temper, but I later heard that the wives of the market workers who had paid to see the film fell about laughing!

Every now and then I like to dip into a book I bought some long time ago which was printed in 1851 and, in addition to listing the inhabitants of Fleetwood at that time, it also contains a description of the town which is delightful to read: “The town is laid out with much taste and elegance, and the public buildings, hotels, private residences, and lodging houses are built in a style of grandeur and the convenience scarcely to be surpassed…” (I don’t know if that included Thompsons Lido, otherwise known as the Doss House!) “… Before the railway enters the port of Fleetwood it is carried over the ‘Wyre Water’ or a portion of the bay, by an embankment of stone and immense piles of timber for a distance of about two miles, and at the influx of the tide the trains appear as if to be passing through the sea, a sight by no means unpleasant to the nervous passengers”. And I bet there were a few of those!

Among the residents listed were John Gardner, Barrister; Mrs Elizabeth Gaskell from Manchester (of Cranford fame?); Rev Thos Gibson, Catholic Priest; John Oswald, Head Captain, Harbour Master and Bath Proprietor (bath proprietor?); John Laidley, and Benjamin Whitworth, Gentlemen; James Stott, Station Master; Ambrose Worthington, Lighthouse Keeper.

As there were so few residents I cannot see that a barrister would find much local work but he was probably a wealthy man from Manchester who kept a holiday home here, just as Benjamin Whitworth did. There was a Catholic school in Warren Street with Michael Connor, Master; and there were two boarding schools for ladies, one in Mount Terrace run by the Misses Crompton and Goodier; and the other in Dock Street run by the Misses Warbreck. And they, too, would presumably be for the daughters of wealthy residents. The list of residents and traders is not very long for the population of the town in 1851 was very small, but it makes interesting reading because it included many names which are still known today and even some who are remembered in street names, and some who are probably the ancestors of today’s residents. Incidentally, I did not see any mention of any police officers in the director. Perhaps there were not enough people here then, and perhaps the few who were here were so law abiding, no police were needed. One wonders what prompted them to be needed eventually?

Talking of the police, the camera club each winter had a full programme of visiting lecturers, most of whom were very good, and one speaker we were expecting was an officer of the Liverpool police, who was going to talk to us about crime prevention and accompany his talk with slides he had taken himself. We had heard he was a very competent photographer and good speaker and we were looking forward to hearing him. Unfortunately he arrived late and in apologising, said he couldn’t show us his slides on crime prevention as they had been stolen from his car!

Although the members used to grumble about slide shows and said we had too many of them they were, nevertheless, the best attended nights and a good speaker was always well received and asked to come again. The big firms used to send some excellent lecturers with first class pictures and we usually had full houses for them. One who was very popular was Charles Clarke from Kodak, a first class humorist with some good slides. He usually stood at the front of the room near the screen while the projectionist projected his slides from the back, but because he disliked saying “next slide please” to the projectionist he delightedly came one year with a little from from a Christmas cracker which when pressed, made a clicking sound indicating to the projectionist when to change slides. All went well until one of our members who had been given for Christmas a cigarette lighter which needed the flint flicking, tried to light a cigarette. Unfortunately, he was not used to the action of the lighter and kept flicking it, and the projectionist hearing the constant clicking noise kept changing the slides in rapid succession, leaving both the audience and Charles Clarke in utter confusion! Next time Mr Clarke came he brought a large “No Smoking” sign with him!

First published in Life in Fleetwood issue 15, December 1991.

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