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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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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It was a great day when improved gas mains and supply came to Fleetwood although a Gas Company was formed on 8th October 1840 with Charles Woodbine, foreman and William Woodbine, labourer. Abel Woodbine, ‘labourer’s boy’, was paid four shillings a week. The gas holder then in use was 38 feet in diameter, 18 feet in depth, and there were constant complaints as to quality and supply of gas.

These ladies in Cop Lane about 1910 expect an improvement in town gas. Oil lamps had to be used on innumerable occasions, for Dr Bird, Medical Officer of Health, thought the supply injurious, the purifiers not working, as he had tested samples and found sulphuretted hydrogen and carbonic acid. Mr Beesley, the gas manager, was fined £20 and even in 1918 there were letters complaining of poor street lighting, referring to the new Gas Company.

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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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William Lambert, one of the town pioneers, on November 25th apprenticed his son Thomas, born May 27th 1882, to Thomas Riley, Joiner, to learn the trade. William had helped to build Springfield Hall at Pilling, Over-Wyre and he signed to the effect that his son would serve his master faithfully, keep his secrets, key his lawful commands, do no damage, nor waste nor lend his goods.

For the first year Thomas received five shillings per week with one shilling rise per year so that in his sixth year of service he was earning ten shillings. Thomas Riley himself had been apprenticed this way and built up a highly successful firm in Fleetwood where he also had an ironmonger’s shop. He founded the North Lancashire Steam Sawmills and earned contracts for Fairhaven Lake and part of Blackpool sea wall.

The cards above show William and Thomas Lambert, father and son. Thomas took so much care of his apprenticeship indenture it was still in good state of preservation on his 95th birthday.

Image and text © Catherine Rothwell.

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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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Attempts to raise money for World War I resulted in replicas of tanks being quickly knocked together to serve as rallying points and the finished article, weird and wonderful according to time, talent, enthusiasm and materials available.

The headmaster of the Testimonial Schools, William Swire, War Savings Secretary, decided to build an exact replica of an army tank and made a good job of it. Nicknamed ‘Egbert’, it was assembled round a lorry chassis with an engine. Egbert was used up and down Lancashire in towns and villages too small or idle to build their own models. Standing on the gun turret, speakers exhorted the locals to lend their money for the war effort and that was how Egbert did his bit. John Crookall is on the far left of the postcard.

Tank Week in 1916 realised over £250,000. “Fleetwood tank received a cheque from Prudential for £10,000″ was billed over the premises in Lower Queen’s Terrace, chosen as headquarters for the campaign.

Image and text © Catherine Rothwell.

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The picture above is a very interesting postcard of a group assembled at the launching of the fishing smack Harriet. The Reverend Samuel Horton, Primitive Methodist Minister, is amongst a host of Leadbetters, the family which, along with the Wrights, in those days controlled fish sales. Smacks such as Harriet and Surprise were launched from Fleetwood beach, Harriet sideways on, making a tremendous splash.

Pioneer Richard Leadbetter came from Marshside to Fleetwood in 1840 in a pony and cart with his wife Margaret and children. He became a wealthy, respected townsman, later building Onward and Margaret. Harriet cost £1,200 in 1892. Surprise II was built near Fleetwood Pier in 1910 and cost £1,600. Richard became known as Fish Dick. He died in 1916. His daughter Harriet married a Manchester bank manager but finally returned to the town she loved.

The patriarchal figure with the stick, I feel sure, must be Richard, but does any Fleetwood resident know?

Image and text © Catherine Rothwell.

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