Reading between the lines
Reading Between The Lines is a new section where readers can share memories of their hometowns… here Dorothy Banks shares a poem about Moston, a small suburb of Manchester.
Dorothy says: “I was born in Bute Street and lived in Moston for the rest of a very long life. Moston and Manchester are in my genes. Mother and grandmother lived their lives here too.
One long rainy day some of that realization turned into memories and ultimately into ‘Pulse of our City’.
A lot of our history has been torn down, carelessly – yes, without care, over the years – but you can’t bulldoze memories.
This is what it was like.”
PULSE OF OUR CITY
There were always trams,
Clickerty-clack,
Like the pulse of Old Manchester
Back in the thirties.
Moody mills and cobbled streets
Alongside leafy lanes and farms.
The milkman’s horse, bored and peckish
Munching my dad’s privet hedge.
Mr Tetlow, aging coalman,
Smudged grey and sweaty,
Tipped roaring, black sacks
Into our sagging cellar
The Rag and Bone Man traipsed from Ancoats,
With his creamstone-filled handcart,
Just for our mums and grannies
To clean kerbs and brighten front steps.
Peasouper smog stopping all traffic,
Homebound workers painted by Lowry,
Trudging along from city to suburbs,
Cheering the hulks of sad, sulking trams.
Sirens screaming defiance at Hitler,
Old people running, tripping on blankets,
Throb of the planes humming a death threat,
Young mums, intent, with butties and babies.
Dad in his tin hat being a Warden
Braving the bombs with Jim-next-door.
Manchester flattened, blackened by smoke.
Our pregnant moggie safe in the shelter.
Chattering children at Victoria and Excnange,
Gasmasks like schoolbags, labelled like luggage,
Parents weeping, waving us off
To spend war in safety, staying with strangers.
And trams still ran,
Clickerty-clack,
Past Grimshaw Lane Market,
Off to Belle Vue.
The trams today, sleeker and smoother,
The pulse of our city, still steady and proud,
Starting their journey in the Square of St. Peter
Close by the Cenotaph, enshrining our Lads.
#cenotaph #city #manchester #trams #arp #war #moston
2 Replies to “Reading between the lines”
Just to say I enjoyed your poem Dorothy. Brought back lots of memories. You may or may not remember me. I am Joan Winnington’s daughter Lynne. We lost mum 5 years ago just two weeks off her 99th birthday. Remembering too all the good things about St Johns. Take care now.
Lynne! I do remember you. Those years at St John’s with your granddad, J. Crossley-Horsefield, in the chair, were unforgettable to me. They were the beginnings, the fostering, of my love of theatre and acting. I even went on to qualify as a drama teacher. This site is a platform for people to write their memories and I hope it blossoms into a meeting of old friends too. Glad you read my poem. Your mum and St John’s Players are synonymous in my mind. I hope you and I can keep in touch during these dark days.