We are still in Brighouse, still in the old open air market. We are still in the time of Ajax and Omo; we are still in the land of plastic rain hats and eggs piled high on trays. It is raining, which is surprising, because it never rained when I was young.
This old postcard features a view of North Bridge, Halifax which must have been taken in the first decade of the twentieth century. The building on the left of the photograph is still there but the one on the right, the old Grand Theatre, is long gone. The theatre was built in 1889 on the site of the earlier Gaiety […]
Old age is a wonderful thing. It’s a time when you need no excuses, when you can turn pointless time wasting into a passionate vocation. It’s a time when you can dedicate most of the morning to scanning an Edwardian penny for no other reason than “it was there”.