Memories of Old Baildon Replaced by the New

From BaildonWiki

A poem about Baildon by Florence Halliday.

I'm writing of Baildon and the old village square,
Of the fountain and stocks that used to stand there,
They've taken them away after many a year,
and old Baildoners have all shed a tear.
They've made place posh I'll agree,
With flowers and plants and at Christmas a tree,
But they've taken old nature away from the place,
That folks were used to, say fifty year ago race.
Old things are going one by one, ‘
work goes on progress is done.
Old Mechanics was a landmark to see,
On Monday night up these steps we would be.

And a visit to the pictures if you wanted to swank,
For in those days there was no Top Rank.
Then old clock, disappeared one day,
It’s over't Liberal Club so they say.
There's a fine car park in place of Mechanics,
For there was no space and folk used to panic.
Now Barclay's Bank, old one I mean,
That's disappeared and a new one I've seen.
But old one served its purpose, for you and me,
It only takes brass, pay in or draw out,
But staff are a grand lot, without a doubt,
Now Con club has got a new face,
But still stands in its original place.
They've made it posh, with new carpets its true
Its a grand place to visit, for a gill or two.
Nobles shop has been pulled down, that stood at same side,
And they've done away with Baildon Tide.

Now we cross over the road, where picture house stood,
And we saw Babes in the Wood.
There were Charlie Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy & many more,
When on came Pearl White, out went the light was the usual score.
Then down all those steps, for that was the end,
Till the following Monday, then back we would trend.
It was a good night out for 2d each,
And we called at Joe Hodgson’s for 1d of sweets.
Sometimes on our way home,
Into Bailey's fish shop we'd roam,
For a tail and a 1d of the best,
Who had most chips was always a test.
Sometimes there were 20 or even less,
Good gracious me, now that would serve three.

Lane End has altered since I was young,
Big alterations have begun,
Our first little cottage when were wed,
They've made living room into a shed.
Now all three houses are one beautiful place,
That’s what happens in many a case.
It was our little place, and it served our wants,
If for a bath, I'd go to my Aunts.

Well where I was born, Green Road to say,
Has been lucky, and got to stay,
And Vicarage to just over way.
I‘ve spent many hours in that place,
Mrs. Barber lived there with Noel and Grace.
Later Dr. Acken took over and came,
He was a bit blunt, but liked all the same.
Attended his patients with kindness and skill,
I couldn’t forget him, lots never will.
We played on the road outside his gate,
With whip and top and piggy until it was late,
and old Tngerlary didn't half creat.
It came every week, had a monkey on top,
For ½d three tunes you got.

Now we must move further on,
Old [[Bay Horse]] still carries on.
In back yard, it had a loft full of hens at that time,
Up a big flight of steps you had to climb.
Behind that old place, Donse Jowett you’d see,
To kill a pig he came occasionally,
I remember once, one got away,
Table broke, I'm sorry to say,
It ran down hill as far as coal stay,
With blood dripping from it all the way.
It took a fair while to get it back,
0n another table, fastened with_a strap,
For him to kill it without further mishap.
He brought me a doll to take away my fear,
But I couldn’t bear to have it near.
I was only three at this time I know,
But I've never forgot it somehow.

Now the houses by [[Bay Horse]], at left I mean,
Have all been pulled down for ages it seems.
And old water trough stood for 50 year,
I've drunk many a pint, it was so clear.
There was Popplewell’s farm, which is now Hallfield Drive,
Their house, Baildon Hall, had little windows inside.
But now its a club for folks who live near,
They tell me they keep a good pint of beer.
There was Wildman’s across the road,
A new school now, has lessened the load.
Where our children go, education means a lot,
In my young days I didn't give a jot.
I left school at thirteen to go into the Mill,
Now at 20 they are at school still.

Times have altered you must agree,
Since we were kids, you and me.
Some are for better, some for worse,
Judge for yourself, when on open your purse.
In this generation, new things came,
Nothing’s just the same;
Nearly all young ones have a car,
But we'd to walk, near or far
I remember R 101 heading out to sea,
Go by plane if far to be.
You see there's more brass to spend today,
But look at price of stuff we've to pay
A £1.00 for a lb of best steak, but it's nice,
But how many can afford it at that price.
3/6 for a whiskey in any hotel,
Everything's altered, folks as well.
Now lads have a girlfriend at 15,
In our old days you daren’t be seen .
A lot we hear of is sex today,
They take them to bed, we know that’s a fact,
My goodness, I shouldn't of said that.
For there not all alike, it's only a few.
There are more good ones, if only you knew.
It's only the custom of a certain lot,
Just a few who don't give a jot.
Then there are pop groups, some they are good,
The'd play better music if they could.
We must move with the times of today,
Young ones are cleverer in every way.
They study for 'O' and 'A'_levels they tell me,
And know at 16 what they want to be.
A job all dressed up in their best,
But for us, it was only Sunday day of rest.
Us old ones don't understand at all,
We always said, pride comes before a fall.
But today we live in a different age,
I wish I could tear out a page of their book
	and I be arranged.
It wouldn‘ t do at all to go back 50 year,
Everything now seems more clear. 1
There's better houses and holidays for all,
To go abroad is a general call.
We must move with the times of today,
Whether we like it or not, it's not for us to say.
But be friendly with all and do a good turn,
That's the way a good name you earn.

Well now I must travel up the hill,
To old Nowell’s shop, I wish it was there still.
I've waited an hour with my little dog,
Till Billy put a new iron on my clog.
We sat on a form to wait our turn,
Money was scarce, and hard to earn.
You choose the job you wanted to do,
Twas between Fred Taylor’s, or Baildon Mill,
If you chose Fred Taylors, you'd to walk back up the hill.
For there were no buses you had to walk,
Right to mill gates we use to talk.
And think of our wages, at Friday 3/-,
And that was the pay of a half timers job.
Youngsters today would go mad I'm sure,
If at 5:30 knocker up came to their door.
Now old Kelflicks, Kellcliffe I mean,
Last time I was down it, it was a terrible sight,
Overgrown with weeds, your could hardly see,
The little passage that used to be.
It was a great secret, known only to few,
But most of old Baildoners knew.
There stood a big iron grate
Right in the middle of Towngate,
But to lift off the lid, it was very hard,
Then you went down the hole many a yard.
Till you came to the passage, I’ve already said,
Sometimes you feared, they would find you dead.
It was a long way to go in the dark,
But we dared one another for a lark.
Now across is Padgum, altered by far,
Much better now, if you travel by car.

Then we come to the sweep, Albert Cox was his name,
He once pierced my gas pipe when he came.
Did nothing but laugh and let his soot fall,
I'd have knocked off his head if hadn't been tall.
Now is the Shop where John Wesley preached,
When top of the hill you have reached,
After him, Mrs Rhodes took over with sweets,
Sold Humbugs, Mint rock and Aniseed balls were a treat.
She kept that shop for many a year,
Today it’s Antiques, and not very dear.
Next on my list is Robinson Chemist, been there as long as I can remember,
For stomach ache, he said water and hot ember.
It eased the pain, at least that’s what we thought at the time,
If it didn't Indian Brandy was fine.
Bless him he drew me a tooth when I was 9.
One Sunday afternoon and he took his time.
I'm talking of Harry Chemist, a wonderful man.
And he lived to a very long span.
I think it was a 100  or even more,
Your jolly lucky to reach five score.

All my family were tories by gum,
For in those days no Labour had begun,
My Grandfather and Grandfather Halliday were mates at that time,
Met at Con club at the stroke of nine,
Both were true blues ti the core,
Shouted for their candidate, till their throats were sore.
Votes were counted on at board school,
Tories were winners was a general rule.

You just went past, where Jack welsh lived,
From his flowering cherry, a Spray he would give,
And a bit further up, Jim Brear's loft you could see,
Crammed full of Pigeons, he raced over sea.
Well back to election, celebrated in style,
With home brewed nettle beer, been stood for a while.
But there were plenty of Pubs in our little town,
Nobody liked it when Roebuck came down.
[[Bay Horse]], Angel. [[Malt Shovel]] and Bull,
2d a pint if you could afford the pull.
We also had three fine clubs, within a few yards of each.
Liberals, Cons and now Copper Beach.
These are the ones at the top of the town,
There are many more lower down.
I remember quite well one Saturday night,
A few of us youngsters, saw an awful sight,
Mills horse and trap, down Westgate it came,
Ran into the Fountain, it was a shame,
They fetched Amby and had it shot,
I know all of us cried a lot.
It was a beautiful horse, I can see it now,
How it got loose, I'll never know how.

Well Blacksmith's forge was up by moor,
Halliday’s name was over the door.
When that came down up Westgate they went,
To where Janet hairdresser now rents.
Then they crossed over the road to the bottom of Bank Crest
With Anvil, hammers and all the rest.
If you look up 1860, it says on the wall,
There is the date for you to recall.
Blacksmiths trade is nearly finished,
Shoeing horses nearly diminished.
But this I’d really like to say.
They left a landmark to this day,
Hampton court gates they designed and made,
So in the old days it was a good trade.
Just fancy little Baildon getting the tender,
That I shall always remember.

We come to Baraclough’s where we got pop,
For an empty bottle a ½d you got.
Then Westgate House where Jowetts are now,
Once a private school somehow.
Miss Foster the head, I think I'm right,
Taught her scholars it’s wrong to fight.
It was a school for quite a while,
Children attended in uniform, from many a mile.

Next the old Hall, with a dozen windows or so.
Where Tom Robinson sold his coal,
For 1/— C.W.T. he'd throw it down't hole.
Thompson Hammond lived at bottom of Crest,
Owned all land near it, it was of the best.
All green fields, as green as could be,
Now houses at both sides, for you to see.
But there were no houses except for his one,

He was a good builder in his time,
Built some good houses, one is mine.
There was stone in the quarry, on Baildon green,
Used for the houses you all will have seen.
That's what George Jennings once told me,
He lived quite near for him to see.
Some up the Crest and some of the best,
Been up some years and stood quite a test.

There were two schools, Sandals and Church,
In the playground lads would lurch.
For waiting to start a good fight,
Get stuck in with all their might.
Some of the lasses would watch who'd win,
Sandals were out, sometimes they were in.

Now we come to the places of worship we had,
Primitives has gone, turned into a mill,
But Moravians, Methodists and Church are there still.
Three times to church, I went on Sunday,
How I wished it was Monday.
On went my best clothes and off again,
Three times every Sunday, always the same.
In those days we could do no other,
An elder sister took her young brother.
That was the pattern of our young life,
No murders at all, and not much strife.

If a day holiday from school on the glen you'd roam,
Always in safe distance of home.
A ride on the switchback a ½d a time,
Cape to cairo was always fine.

Just charged 6d for you to pay.
Sometimes she was right, sometimes wrong,
But everyone took it at the price of a song.

Then Threshfield was built in 1911,
A long row of houses, more than seven.
All this was green fields in my young day,
A favourite we played in was old coal stay.
Where the council kept the old snow plough,
How it worked I'll never know how.
For we moved every nut we possibly could,
And cut our names in the wood.
That was the mischief we did in those days,
They say crime never pays.
But the council never bothered, proceedings to take,
It was alright if they could use the brake.
Was pulled by two horses, I'll never forget,
When they had to go, it was a regret.
They were replaced by a mechanical affair,
To go near it none of us dare.

When Sandals pond was covered with ice,
We skated in moonlight it was very nice.
Now it's a playground, made with care, 
But Cromwell watered his horses there.
What a change there has been,
Some of you have never seen.
All the things that's been and gone,
still we carry on.

Then we had the GYPSY PARTY,
And everyone were really hearty.
Young Petrolengro and his bride,
Stood together side by side,
To Baildon church on horseback came,
Made man and wife, just the same.
Then after that in Romany style,
Folks came to watch, from many a mile.
Wed once again in gypsy way,
Their wrists were cut, deep I'd_say.
Then over a fire they had to jump,
Made some of our hearts really thump.
All this took place up Jenny lane,
It was a lovely day, and no rain.
Really was a sight to see,
What little Baildon could really be.
Then for a week fun began,
Everyone in the village sang.
From Towngate to top of moor,
Folks danced every night till their feet were sore.
Illuminations were a sight to see,
As good as Blackpool could ever be.
All trimmed up was village square,
Talk about letting down your hair.
A big heifer was killed and made into broth,
All sold up, before you could cough.
Those who were lucky, had caravans,.
Others covered their carts with tins and cans.
And donned up like gypsies for a week,
A lot of them now would be hard to seek.
Some of their names we remember with pride,
But such a lot have already died.

Baildon now is a smarter place,
Ian Clough hall has added to its grace,
Named after a Baildon lad, a climber was he,
When he was killed what a shock it would be.
He was the professional climber of our little town,
And we all felt it badly when he came down.
Us old ones remember Baildon that was,
The old buildings, names, and the clogs.
You think you can hear them still,
Clattering down Browgate to the mill.

Baildon green has altered as well,
There's so many things I can hardly tell.
A lovely sight you’d often see,
Was a gaggle of geese, under a tree.
Then they set off in such a haste
You had to get moving, or you would have been chased.
Old mill is still there where they used to weave,
Part of it now is a garage I see.
And the old Cricketers Arms, across the way,
Has weathered the storm so to say.
The little church, is still on the hill,
Where they say the Lords Prayer still.
It's a grand little place all on its own,
Lots of fields where seeds were sown.
And a farm down Thompson Lane,
The farmer was Feather by name.

Well now for a stroll up the glen,
Or a ride on the tramway, to the top of the pen,
Green full of gypsies you'd often see,
Now they are gone, glad the tenants will be.
Armstrong’s shed is on our way home,
Still a weaving place I presume
But in the cod days Baildon laundry stood there,
Dick Wilson collected clothes, with van and mare.
Then they moved to Westgate to be nearer,
I didn't think there prices were any dearer.
For there were no washers at that time at all,
For peggy tub, peggy stick, you would call.
Those were things you used the most,
Just at the time there was a ½d post.
A Bus just started to Shipley it went,
If you caught it, you were lucky and a 1d you spent.
A tram at Baildon bridge you met,
If into Bradford you intended to get.
The bus Blyth and Berwick I think that: the name,
Ran every hour, that was their aim.
A brown box affair, driver intact,
We always tried for a seat at the back.
Sometimes we'd walk to save the fare,
1d it was and nothing to spare.
Spent it in toffee, 4 squares to a 1d,
In those days it was the best of any.
Was made from best butter and treacle as well,
When you were eating it everyone could tell.
It came from Kell's shop, a little affair,
One of the places, no longer there.

Then James Mattrick made toffee at home,
Into his place we'd often roam.
For a ½ d of bits, in a big bag we'd get,
If we were lucky not to be bet.
First there got what they may,
While others had to wait another day.
He then had a shop where car park is now,
For length of time I wouldn't know how.
Apart from toffee he used to make,
His wife was good at pills for you to take.
It was called Homeapathic and it was good,
Folks came for her medicine, if they could.
It was cheaper by far, than the Doctor could make,
There was no National Health for you to partake.
That came much later and a good thing I'm sure,
For prescriptions now, old folks pay no more.
Illness then was very rare,
To Doctor you went, prepared for a scare.
Scarlet fever was an ailment dreaded by all,
To hospital you went, isolation the’d call.

Now I must get on a better note,
And tell you of Fred Terry I quote,
He played the piano and spoons very well,
Sometimes at the picture house, you never could tell.
He'd never had a lesson of that I'm sure,
I know I'm right, because I lived next door.

Baildon cricket club played on the green,
Then up Jenny lane, they came to be seen.
There were Dominoes, darts, snooker as well,
Played once a week at a different hotel.
A pigeon club was formed by local lads,
Over chanel was longest race they had.
One of the old hands, just said as a joke,
If tha tells me how many pigeons in basket I'll give thee em both.

There was cock fighting a 1/- a time,
Till police caught em napping with a heavy fine.
A gambling school met every Sunday on moor,
Attended they say by many a score,
These sports as they call them were best to be dropped,
While some new ones were enjoyed by a lot.

As I've mentioned before Baildon tide has gone,
Lamps in the caravans, how they shone.
Happy were we, our eyes sparkling with glee,
When up Browgate, first caravan we could sea.
They were all drawn by horses, at first I should say,
But struggled up Browgate, come what may.
Some of the horses had to be shed, a
Across to the blacksmiths they often plod.
It was a tough job if the horse was frisky,
I've heard it said, it helped to have a small whisky.
Wives cooked beef, and baked 40 jam tarts,
Relations popped in traps and carts.
Gypsies stayed in tide field on Jenny lane for just a few days,
And all the time organ would plays
There was roundabout, switchback, cake-walk as well,
Fat lady, fortune teller and pie and peas you could smell.
Brandy snap stall and coconut shies,

Hoop-a-la and I don't know what,
All this has now gone to pot.
Folks went to Blackpool following week,
Just for four days, sunshine to seek.
Stayed at a lodge house 4/- the night,
Had a good time and some got tight.
Next morning on the sands you would be,
Then enjoying cockles and winkles with glee.
Now dancing has started at picture house,
Run by Greenwood, he's as quiet as a mouse.
Told all lads, keep girls on their feet, V
Well you've guessed right, lancers a treat.
Things are moving very fast,
Just think we've gotta dance hall at last.
1/6 each on a Wednesday night,
Better times are in sight.
But over the moors we still wander,
Doesn't do to stop and ponder.
But you know, no one would tell,
If you had a good drink at Joeb's well.
Then down Spring woods you'd go,
Bluebells and a little stream,
the nicest place you've ever seen.
Just like Heaven and a dream,
And a field full of dairy cows, making cream.

Next was a cabby called Priest, lived up East Parade,
To his door if appointment you made.
He wore a long coat and a billy cock hat,
You couldn't miss him I'm sure of that.
You were posh if you hired his cab,
For it was the only one Baildon had.
Another to pass your door,
Brewery cart, with a team of four.
Lovely grey horses, a sight to see,
All that is over, no more to see.
Most of these things have gone by the book,
Now in the garages you take a look.
For a posh car, that was all you need,
100 miles an hour, if you wanted to speed.
The first in Baildon if I am right;
Was a Florrie Ford to come into sight.
Bought from Ted Whymark, one of old lot,
It was Lottie his sister who kept fish shop.
They lived up Tentercroft at that time,
By old Loin spout you would climb.
There, there was water all year round,
It ran from a stream off Baildon moor,
When they took it away old Baildoners felt sore.
And had to use taps evermore.

Baildons a beauty spot, snug on the hill,
Bradford business men retire here still.
On Coach Road stands Trench Farm,
A lovely place full of charm.
Salts Grammar school is now there,
For lasses and lads, some with long hair.
Lots of places have long been gone,
Sold at the price of an old song,
There's talk of taking our name away,
Old Baildoners will be sorry I'll say.
Its been old Baildon for 100s of years,
If they take out the name there’ll be plenty of tears.
But we must make progress, that we know,
Just one of the reasons we can't go slow.

I've just heard Station has opened again,
Must be 20 years since last train.
Where Jimmy Whitaker stacked his coal,
Not many people had heard of the dole.
Food and everything was cheaper, ‘
2d or lower would fill a good eater.
Folks always baked their own bread,
If they didn't they were lazy they said.
Got oven hot with a big lump of wood,
Kneaded dough, on a buffet, as best they could.

Old Frank dagger used to sell hens,
Till local lads raided his pens.
There was no electricity in those days alas,
Street lamps, had to depend on gas.
Shell Davies came round morning and night,
With a long pole to put out the light.
Candles were used quite a lot at that tine,
You could depend on them to last until nine.
Paraffin lamps in 1886 were a new idea,
A bit dangerous and for many too dear.
Round about 10 folks went to bed,
No Tele or Radio, just a book to read.
A few pages of the Bible was a general rule,
Kids were in bed getting ready for school.

How things have altered a lot I'm sure,
Milkmen to knock on your door.
Just to measure your pint and make sure,
You'd got your pint and no more.
Now it's in bottles another new plan,
Far better than getting it out of a can.

There’s another place I'd nearly forgotten,
Tong Park, just at bottom.
Children used to fish in Dam,
It was a dangerous plan.
Then Denby's owned mill on lane,
It's working still just the same.
They built a Cenotaph for lads who fell,
With their names inscribed to tell.
The'd joined up their duty to do,
In 1914 to fight they knew.

We’ll just cross to Buck wood for a change,
But then were getting out of range.
So better come back the other way,
Pause at Junction for a stay.
Watch the customers going in,
For a beer, perhaps a gin.
Beneath it once was Chester’s shop,
A Rabbit, potatoes, onions, carrots a 1/- the lot.
But Junction it still stays,
A corner building of two ways.
Now we meet old Billy Cox,
As sly as any old fox.
Kept his Donkey near his house,
Smell made all the neighbours grouse.

Families then were eleven or twelve,
Some of then worked in Delph.
Heaved out stone morning till night,
Then came home a sorry sight.
For some of them were only eight.
Could hardly reach to open gate.
A bowl of nettle broth and up to bed,
Get ready for morning mother said.
But they were happy in their way,
Hard work and not much play.
I wish the old folks could just see,
How different everything could be.
The'd never believe what has been done,
I think the battle has been won.
There's more murders I'll agree, and more strife,
But the saying goes, well that’s life.

I've just been looking at Crooks Farm,
70 caravans, where once stood a farm.
Down Hope Lane past Dove Hall
One of the loneliest places to call.
Just to the right, reservoir to view,
What a thrill it gives to you. .
For in the moonlight it reflects,
All the Stars like little specks.
Down the old lane on our way home,
Once green pastures where you could roam.
Turn right on West lane to Jennings Farm,
For a 1d of milk while it was still warm.
Now there are houses, fine ones I'll say,
But the rates will be high for them to pay.
They've made it look more like a park,
Not lonely now to go home in the dark.

Well now I've come to someone young,
It was in Baildon his career begun.
He's been to the Olympics and many more,
Lives 20 minutes from our door.
I think you've guessed who I mean,
He's often seen on the tele screen.
Harvey Smith is his name,
One of the best at his game.
With Mattie Brown and Summertime,
You can depend on him to toe the line,
Were proud to hail a lad so clever,
First in Baildon to go to Olympics ever.
I think I'm right in saying this,
Amby Hainsworth he will have missed,
Was in his field he use to ride,
No bridle or sadle, bareback was his stride.
He is a clever lad and young,
In Amby‘s field his career begun.

Well old men smoked their old clay pipes,
Smell nearly stunk you out at night.
Stone floors had to be scrubbed,
The'd never even thought of wood.
Then they covered them with sand,
Scattered on with their hand.
Carpets were only for the gentry,
And then they weren't so very plenty.
No vacs to help clean up the dirt,
Down on their knees they had to work.

Mr. Bairstow came down Mill hill,
His carriage and pair driven with skill,
He was the boss of Baildon Mill.
Lads called at little Hood Hut,
For an ounce of twist to cut.
It still stands firm in same old spot,
But Robinsons are there now with sweets and pop.
Then just a little further up, stood a larger wooden hut,
And in it worked a Baildon Lass,
Made frocks for a bit of cash.
Someone called there every day,
Her name was Mary Ann Haliday.
Brother Robinson had a place attached,
Finger on snek up went latch.
5/- for a pair of shafts you paid,
Baildon wheelwright was his trade.
These old codgers have passed on,
Left no young ones to carry on.
Lots of trades have all died out,
In their places new ones sprout.
Rudolf's house had to come down,
He didn't like leaving middle of town.
To him you'd go for good advice,
And he was always very nice.
Clerk to council, for a very long time,
He came to live in a house across from mine.

Lasses all grew long hair,
to cut it off they didn't dare.
We'd no ladies hairdressers then,
Just a saloon for the men.
Kept by Joe Allen up Church Hill,
Houses at other side still.
Now stands a new Library attached to Ian Clough Hall,
For every type of book you've only to call.
Then old scotch Willie tried to fly,
with a pair of cake tins he had a good try.
On Baildon green and from a rock,
When he took off he got a shock.‘
For he broke his leg behind that rock,
He never tried that lark again,
I think he was overcome with shame.
Folks all laughed at his attempt,
When he did it, it was well meant,

On a Whit Monday it was a treat,
Down on low road, walkers we'd meet.
They‘d walk fer many a weary mile,
Finished up in Peel Park, in style,
Let off a balloon with a roar,
In a matter of seconds in the air it would soar.
Finished with Fireworks a picture to see,
Those who saw them with me will agree.

Sunday schools gathered in village square,
To miss this occasion, you didn’t dare.
We sang hymns and the Parson would pray,
The organ was pulled by a horse and dray.
Then down to Miss Ellison’s field we all went,
For bun, tea and races, it was an event.
We looked forward to this every year,
It will have been missed by a lot we fear.
In those days to Sunday school, children went,
Now to a football match is their intent.
On the first of May what a beautiful day,
All the horses trimmed up I'll say.
Today they have nearly all disappeared,
In the old days how pleased if a foal you reared.

It's nice on a frosty night to walk up Church hill,
Stand at the gates and hear carols sung still.
You often hear the church bells chime,
It brings back the happy times.
When folks lived for each other,
No thoughts of murder or bother.
Harry Carter baked good bread,
Best in Baildon once was said.
His shop was a very little place,
Westgate by Bull, next place.
At plot night, you'd run down Baildon Green,
To Doubledays where you had seen,
50 Bangers for a 1d on a band,
Called Chinese crackers and they were grand.
Parkin pigs made by Miss Berry,
For their eyes they had a cherry.
Now her shop has been pulled down,
Along with others in the town,
It stood next door to Barclay's Bank,
And Miss Brooke sold wool by hand.
And of course Annie Man with Fents,
Next door Miss Thomas, for a model hat £1 you spent.
Across the road Joe Mattricks shop,
Every kind of vegetables along with hops.

Just a little town is ours,
Square and Car Park full of flowers.
Seats where you can sit and chat,
And say my goodness Mrs. —————— got a new hat.
But they havn't brought fountain back,
Folk came running down the street,
At first they thought it was potted meat.
But nobody were ever had,
Just a joke, not bad.
I'm sure we are a homely lot,
Pride and grit we all have got.
A lot of old ones have all passed on,
So it's up to us to carry on.
That's just as it ought to be,
But a few two wars did see.
And the hardships that can be,
Lots of lads served King and Queen.
Little crosses at cenotaph can be seen.
They served their country at the call.
Here sadly missed by me and all.
They did well and did their bit,
Folks at home were hard hit.
All this caused by Kaiser,
You'd think by now they would be wiser.
There was no rationing as we knew,
Off to Shipley we went to queue.
For a bit of liver, drip or lard,
Things by now got very hard.
Peace came in 1918, took a while to come around,
But Baildon folk soon got their feet firmly on ground.
Since then Baildon's grown a great deal more,
Population risen by many a score.
New comers are always welcome here,
Get acquainted over a gill of beer.
Or down at the shops the'd have a talk,
Ask about Baildon old town,
And folks who had worked till sun went down.
Tom Wharton, Swinney and old Coil bill,
Charlie Bolten, undertaker and a joiner of skill.
There were many more I can't recall,
Because at that time I was very small.
They worked long hours and got no praise,
It was never thought of in those days.
Drank their beer at last hour,
If thunder hadn't turned it sour.
Sometimes it had, was the case,
So round to Jack Boocock’s shop we’d race.
For just another pint or two,
To tide them over till they could brew.
Along with cockles and tripe galore,
Three little barrels stood at his door.
With Paraffin, vinegar and sarsaparilla,
Sometimes Jack had to go down cellar.
It had an iron gate outside on top,
And down it kids their ½d dropped.
If they went for them to the bottom,
Bet your life sarsaparilla the'd cotton.
for in their pocket they had a pot,
Thank goodness it didn't hold a lot.

Frank Ruddock lived up Cliffe Lane.
To him every day was the same.
He fattened Geese by the score,
At Christmas they were killed and laid on floor.

Well Con club dance was annual event,
Where all lads and lassies went.
Northgate cafe they had to rent,
What a night it used to be,
Robinson Halliday used to be M.C.
We danced until eleven o'clock.
One night to find the door was locked.
Lads laughed and thought it was good fun,
Down Browgate we had to run.
Most nights we were in bed by eight,
A great event to be out late.

Then they built Parochial hall,
Whist and dances attended by all.
On Wednesday and Saturday night,
Till black out came and we had no light.
They carried on till war was done,
Going home in the dark was no fun.

Down low Baildon lived a Doctor Mc Vee,
With a son as handsome as could be.
And Doctor Firth across the way,
In his high pitched voice we could hear him say,
No school for you today.
School kid hunter, Bell by name,
Paid you a visit just the same.
To see if you were really bad,
And he hadn’t just been had,
Then we got a char-a-bang,
Tom Cheetham was the man.
Day trips started to the sea,
But we had to see how much it would be.
It was a high affair to climb inside,
Heavy people, many times tried.

A walk down Baildon Road did you good,
No houses from Popplewell’s till you got to wood,
Just two at Temple Rhydding,
I know you’ll think I'm kidding.
But now it's built all way up,
St. Anne's Terrace and St, Aidans,
Just one Church where Catholics go,
Its well attended that 1 know.
No matter which religion you favour,
We all look up to one Saviour.
It's him that helps us every day,
In everything we do or say.
Old men went poaching down Baildon green,
Well up Delph, where they couldn’t be seen.
With nets and snares, rabbits they got,
Hurried back home to drop them in pot.
In serious trouble if they had been caught,
But of that danger they never thought.
They made a good dinner with plenty of greens,
Some of them Popplewell’s fields had seen.

Hollings hill, farms at both sides,
It's a race track now, for people who ride.
Then at bottom there's Barkers with fleece,
It’s all a tale it's full of grease.
Further on is Shoulder of Mutton,
Pop in if you feel like a glutton.
For a pint of bitter to drink with your bread,
Then back to work, enough said.
Up Roundwood Road sprung a new estate,
At one time few houses with big iron gate.
Reddioghs and Tankards, just two to relate.
Both mill owners and gentlemen
Kept servants who were in by ten
One of their coachmen lived down the lane,
I do believe Serivener was his name.

Now go for a walk by the river Aire,
That’s a place to give you a scare.
When it had rained for many a day,
You'd wonder how all water got away,
Houses were flooded at right hand side,
Till Council came with pump, how they tried.
All these houses, now have all-gone, so have green lane,
A new road across is their aim.
For if you go a little bit late,
I’m talking of mornings around half past eight.
You take your turn in a long queue,
To do away with this they intend to do.
Ease the traffic, what a good idea.
But rates will go Up by a wallop I fear.
The’ve rehoused the folk, some-up the green,
And others in flats, up Jenny lane I've seen.
Two more old landmarks have gone to the wall,
In 50 years hence, some will recall.
Baildon bridge and Green lane are the two I mean.
But the old Barracks still can be seen.
Where some of our lads train for Army,
While others think they are balmy.

There were a few cottages called Eddie Clough fold,
About four and very old.
Old band place stood at bottom,
Made of wood, and three parts rotten.
Baildon Brass band had it for their centre,
While practising you daren’t enter,
John Paley played cornet well,
And many others noise to swell.
This place has gone with Dr. Fold,
Cottages gone that were very old.
At the bottom stood a large wood hut.
Full of greengrocery and fish to gut.
Was managed by Anne Boocock by the way,
But she locked the door and went to play.
Till someone went down her Father to tell,
He raced up and told her. open up and sell.
It made no difference for the next day,
She did the same, went out to play.

Just above Miss Rennard lived and was loved by all,
A Sunday school teacher for her they would call.
She always answered their request,
To teach the ten commandments she did her best.
Now I mustn't forget the schoolmasters too,
Spong up at Church, a little man, everyone knew,
Morgan Jones, a welsh man was he,
Three strokes of cane if you didn't agree.
Margets, Church Minister then came Sidebottom.
He wore a long coat and a black silk hat,
Carried a stick with a silver cap.
Was in Baildon a great many years,
When he left to get married there were plenty of tears.
Since then we've got a new church tower,
It's lovely to look at, you'll gather.
Stands so stately on top of the hill,
For the next 1000 years I hope it's there still.
There's another place at the bottom of the lane,
Esholt tarn, but in Baildon all same,
The main things a sewerage of renown,
But it's not long ago Tony Fall raced round tarn.
Further this way was Mortuary called Beck House,
Sad place to talk of but quiet as a mouse.
Later they stabled Dolly there,
Council horse treated with care.
A very nice age she lived to be,
How sorry in the Telegraph I did see.
Her time had come and she had died,
I know for sure lots of folks cried.
She was loved by all who knew her gate,
Willie Bot was her mate.
They couldn't move so very fast,
But will be remembered to the last.

Batley House is now in view,
Holmes lived there if you only knew.
Farmers by trade and leather they made.
Will their son a good Solicitor was he,
For advice to him you would see,
Now there's new flats up Hagas Lane,
Doesn't seem quite the same.
Once green fields full of cows and pigs,
In one corner a very old Gig.
But we mustn't dive into the past,
Things are better now at last.
There were no Pensions in the old days,
Now every week the Post Office pays,
£17.50 if you live alone.
£16.50 for a man and his wife.
With a £10.00 a week bonus at Christmas we got,
A nice surprise and it helped a lot.

Well I mustn't forget Black Harry,
In a red hankerchief his food he'd carry.
He'd do you a job for a copper or two,
Where he came from nobody knew.
You often saw him sat in the Forge,
With a pork pie from Whiteheads he'd gorge.
Just sit there until he was warm,
Then off on the road he would storm.
Another old custom has entered my mind,
A very good remedy at that time,
If you had a cold and didn't feel well,
Into Angel or any hotel.
For a gill of porter in a pot,
Plunge poker in it while it was hot.
And get to bed like a bee in a hive,
For you knew very well you'd to be up for five.

A sad affair when your end came,
Into a coffin, you went just the same.
The price at that time was £5.00 you paid,
And 7d per head if funeral tea you made.
I know you will think this extremely cheap,
But that was the price of a tea of meat,
It's all perfectly true,
I’ve got the notes if you only knew.
The dates are 1903 and 1906,
You know 70 years can put you in a bit of a fix.

Well now I've come back to where l begun,
Old shops have gone, new ones have come.
There's a Supermarket and you don’t have to wait,
A basket you get, goods you take.
To the desk to pay and they give you free stamps,
Out of the door and it shuts with a clank.

Baildons only a little place you must agree,
Big enough to serve the wants of you and me,
Once a month at church Mothers union meet,
On pancake day they have a treat.
Two townswomen’s guilds, afternoons and nights,
Visit people who are in a plight.
Marvellous Con club for men and women only,
Whist and socials held for the lonely.
An annual trip held once a year,
Christmas dinner, full of good cheer,
A bridge drive on Friday for men and their wives,
Your name in the paper if you win a prize.
Sisterhood at Methodists every Wednesday afternoon,
Just take a look there going up soon.
Haven for old folks who look forward with glee,
If only to chat over a cup of tea.
They run a weekly holiday twice a year,
And by all accounts it's not very dear.
In winter evening classes at Sandle’s school,
To learn a bit more is the general rule.
I think they have dancing someone told me,
I'll bet it's different from 1903.
Then there's the Veterans for men in the town,
Lots more entertainment than I've written down.

We’ve a wonderful Golf course on top of the moor,
Membership added to many a score.
After they've tired, with the long walk,
Call at golf house where they can talk.
Have a drink or perhaps a meal,
I know to everyone this doesn't appeal.
Go lower down and there's Soldier's and Sailor's,
For lads who fought and there were no failures.
British Legion does a good job,
Looks after dependants of fighting mob.
Happy hours on an evening they Spend.
Women's Auxilary also held there,
A grand lot of lassie's who really care.
Cubs you see going to church hut for a night,
I always think it's a lonely sight,
Makes them good citizens for their future life,
I hope by that time, there’s not as much strife.
There's lots more things I'd like to write down,
But believe it or not I'm running out of time.
You new folks have come to a wonderful place,
I wouldn't leave it in any case.
I was born in old Baildon,
And I want to die here,
I’ve never left it for 75 years.
These are some of the old times I've replaced by the new,
You’ve been a smashing audience to hear me through.
I hope sincerely I've not been a bore,
If not some day I'll write some more.
I've tried to tell you, the old Baildon I knew,
Believe it or not, I’m sure it's all true.
But lately my memory has started to fail,
But I hope you have laughed at some of my tale.
So this is message to end with today,
In just a few words I want to say,
God bless each and everyone of you, everyday.