Mock-marble Burtons; the line of Armstrong Siddeleys outside the White Swan; polished pianos in Pohlmann’s window: Halifax as I almost remember it if I let my imaginations stretch back far enough.
I must have taken this photograph of Halifax Piece Hall in the late 1970s: a period when the building was host to a rather shabby market and a flock of cold, empty, stone rooms.
I won’t be around next week, I’m going to ski down a mountain. To be accurate, I am going to sit at the bottom of a mountain looking after t’grandson whilst his parents ski down a mountain. To be even more accurate, I am going to sup a cold beer at the bottom of a mountain, whilst the Good Lady […]
I am ending this short tour of Brighouse back in the 1960s with a return to the market. There is, however, something slightly odd about this final negative scan. Looking carefully at the young chap towards the right of the group of market shoppers, I have the distinct impression that it might be me. But if it is, who took […]
It is still 1966 and we have moved back from Brighouse Market onto Commercial Street. There are no yellow lines and no parking meters, but be careful, there is no waiting on this side today.
We had a meal out at the Old Bridge Inn, Ripponden last night. Lovely pub, glorious food and drink, and special friends. I could have got lyrical about it, but then I realised I did 9 years ago. Here’s what I wrote then:- Imagine the scene. You are walking through a West Yorkshire village. The nearby Pennine hills scrape puddles […]
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”.