Home of Sheffield Stories. Part of Off The Shelf

Thanks to everyone who helped.

I grew up in Sheffield and remember having a happy childhood there; Sheffield was a great place to grow up in. It had both the city centre with all its amenities and a beautiful countryside on the doorstep. I remember the friendliness of Sheffield – a place where people readily chatted at bus stops and in doorways. There was always a great buzz about the city of Sheffield. I always enjoyed the school trips to the crucible at Christmas time. I loved the cinema near Schofield’s department store and remember watching my first grown up film there, ‘Grease’. I was always excited to choose a fresh cake from the  Co-op bakery, and as a teenager I  couldn’t wait to put on my dancing shoes and dance the night away in Josephine’s night club.

Since those days Sheffield has been transformed. Gone is ‘the hole in the road’ to make way for a more cosmopolitan feel. Now a smart city centre exists with fountains dancing by the peace gardens and the new hotels. Last year I sat on the ‘Sheffield Eye’ and marveled at the panorama of this changing city flanked by tranquil hills, it was here beneath the clouds that Sheffield struck me as a place that captures the best of both worlds.

(Edited by Nicola Gleadall)

My hills have provided

Reached around and protected

Hold me in your home turf arms

I need you, I do

Wrap your soil around me

Comfort and console me forever

A wonderful gift from God

It’s luscious green and velvet

A vivid emerald cloak

Enfold it all around me

Tuck it in tight

A few grains in my hand for luck

It’s what I’ve always wanted

It’ll be a long night.

(Edited by Nicola Gleadall)

 

It all began, no steel in sight, a town so poor and little,

Farmers trading their wool did roam and ramble the ground.

The first noted discovery, Chaucer’s mention of thwittle.

High demand for cutlery, Steel City’s birth was found.

 

Society grows and blossoms – life’s qualities also follow,

Transforming beauty to grime, that they had tried to conceal.

The Crucible Steel, quality grows, but hearts for nature - hollow.

Plating silver and copper; a greater, attractive appeal

 

Rising to one hundred thousand; a boom in population.

Steel City achieved, the status earned, Sheffield’s revelation.

Back to the start of time and action, until the present day,

Celebration of steel continues; pride is here to stay.

(Edited by Nicola Gleadall) 

A lovely submission from Sarah-Jane Richardson 

‘My Sheffield’ is my grandparents, the area of Crookes,

Yorkshire Tea , Cooplands treats and Grandad’s latin books.

Charity shop adventures, trips across the park,

A smiling, vibrant Sheffield, began to make its mark.

 

‘My Sheffield’ is my mum, her fully grounded roots,

Her youth, growth, upbringing, all her teenage pursuits.

In her pure white dress, she waits outside the walls of St Marie’s,

Butterflies dance, as vows are swapped in the steel city.

 

‘My Sheffield’ it belongs to me, my student dwelling place,

Beans on toast and Aldi shops and nights out in Embrace.

Independence, new encounters, facing the unknown,

Sheffield, yes, is shaping me, a home away from home.

(Edited by Nicola Gleadall)

Anonymous asked: One of my fav tumblrs! I live in the US but dream of living in Sheffield! Thanks for everything!

wow thanks and thank you for reading!

to all the new followers and the love shown for this tumblr!

Currently planning an epic video which shows the beauty spots of Sheffield, like the beloved CEX near Ponds Forge… I kid. Keep in Tune and Keep Submitting.

‘Were going out and into the jungle’ my mum told me today,

‘So pack your bags and grab your snap, let’s get on our way.

‘The jungle’ I gasped with a smile on my face and sparkles in my eyes,

‘What will we do when we get there?’ She told me a secret surprise.

Well on the train, I sat and guessed, and guessed and guessed some more,

My mind became a picture book; wild animals I’d never seen before.

Monkeys and snakes, creepies and crawlies, roaming wild and free.

But when I asked mum, she smiled and said ‘you’ll have to wait and see.’

So my mind supplied images, of this earthy natural maze,

I could see myself swinging, through trees in the golden haze.

Into the lake I took a dive, shoals of fish nibbled at my toes.

I shut my eyes, painted paradise, the train halted and I arose.

‘Here we are, we’ve arrived at last,’ mum said to me with a smile,

But all I saw was a big glass dome, and shops that ran on for a mile.

I wasn’t in the jungle overseas and afar, yet green leaves hung over my head,

Instead I had come to my own city jungle – Sheffield’s Winter Gardens instead.

(Edited by Nicola Gleadall)

Gordon read the letter for what seemed like the thousandth time.

“Your guest will arrive on the train from Leicester, change at Sheffield, disembark at Ecclesfield West at 14:15 hours.”          

That seemed straightforward enough. He took the pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked it against the clock above the fireplace. It was time to go.

 “See you later love!”               

Gordon’s wife Amy was in the kitchen cooking, her sleeves were rolled up and her forearms were coated with white flour from baking.

“I’m doing a plate pie.”

“That’ll be nice. Our Bill loves your cooking when he comes to stay, and if Albert’s a mate of Bill’s I’m sure he will too.”

Gordon put on his cap and set off for the station, puffing his beloved pipe as he went. Presently a tell tale plume of steam showed itself over the treetops in the valley bottom.  He checked his pocket watch again and nodded accordingly. Being a railwayman himself, he approved of trains that ran on time. The engine finally came into view, slowing gradually before pulling to a stop by the platform.

“Ecclesfield West,” shouted Ted as the carriage doors flung open.

Gordon anxiously watched the passengers disembark as he tried to spot his visitor.

“Where is he?” muttered Gordon, before he noticed a smartly dressed man in black pinstripe suit and trilby hat back out of the carriage tugging a large suitcase behind him.  Gordon looked lively and stepped up to say greet the visitor.

“Are you..?”

“Albert Harrison,” the guest butted in. “You must be Woodhead. Well don’t just stand there, give us a hand.”

Albert stood aside as Gordon took hold of his case. It was heavy, but just about manageable.

“I’ll take the other one,” said the visitor, picking up a lighter and smaller case from behind and left by the exit way which came out on Station Road.

“It’s only a ten minute walk to our house.”

“No taxis?”  Albert raised his eyebrows as if he expected better.

“The last village I did a guest spot at, the vicar picked me up in his own car.”               

“Ours doesn’t drive.  He rides a bike.”

Albert grunted.  The walk took more like twenty minutes, along the Common, past the pub, to the group of cottages, one of which was Gordon and Amy’s home.

“That’s St. Mary’s where you’ll be doing your stuff,” said Gordon as they walked, nodding in the direction of the church whose tower was visible over the top of the hill. “They used to call it the Minster on the Moors, on account of it being visible for so far around.”    

“Well at least that looks reasonable.”

“Look, how do you know our Bill?  He didn’t say.”

“From the Railway Station.”

“Oh, you work for our firm too?” Gordon’s brother worked as station porter at a village called Wigston, near Leicester.

“Good Lord, no!  I am a man of independent means and an expert on church music!”

Gordon was getting out of breath from lugging Albert’s heavy case and was glad to get back home.  Amy had seen them coming and the front door was open before they reached it.  Their three children, James, Maureen and Andrew, stood politely by her side to greet the important guest, who shook their hands one by one as he went in. Albert marched into the front room and sat down in Gordon’s chair.

“I’ll be wanting to inspect the belfry and give the bells a bit of a ring tonight,” he said, “ And if there’s a suitable hostelry nearby I like to wet my whistle the night before a big show.”

“What about the rest of the team.  Don’t you want to practise with them?”

“Oh I’ll meet them, but as long as they follow my lead it shouldn’t be a problem.  They do know what they’re doing, don’t they?”

“South Yorkshire Bell Ringing Championship Runners-up three years ago,” said Amy proudly.

“Yes, well my normal team have been Midland Counties Champions for five years running now, so we’ll see about that.  Can’t abide working with amateurs.  Mind you, I suppose someone like me whose been blessed with the gift has to oblige the little people. It’s only right.” Albert picked up the previous evenings Sheffield Star that lay neatly folded on the chair’s arm and started to read.

“Can we play cards now Daddy?” asked Maureen.

“I don’t think so,” said Gordon.

“But you said.”               

Albert peered at them reprovingly over the top of the newspaper. Gordon regretted his earlier promise about how Uncle Bill’s friend would play games with the children when he arrived.  Bill would show them how to play Patience on his regular visits and Gordon had rather assumed this man would do the same. In truth this man was no friend of his brother, but instead someone who had forced himself on Bill, commandeering his cart to take him home from the station in the absence of any taxis. On their trips, Albert would like to talk, and Bill, a quiet man like Gordon, could never get a word in edgeways.  When Albert mentioned his invite to Ecclesfield to ring the Church Bells at the 1939 village festival, Bill had jumped at the chance to contribute to the conversation for once by telling him that was where his brother lived, and before he knew it, the man had invited himself to stay at Gordon’s house.

The children amused themselves outside until teatime, and then they all ate together, plate pie, mashed potato and green beans grown by Gordon in his allotment. Mealtime was silent due to the fact that Amy had told the children to be on their best behavior. Eating finished and time rolled on to six o’clock.

“Right,” said Albert. “You’d better take me to meet this vicar of yours and his cronies.  Then you can take me for a drink.”        

They set off to walk to the Parish Church, making their way through the graveyard to the main entrance where they were greeted by the Vicar, Mr.Timmins, the postmaster, Arnold Sanderson, knife-maker, Walter Parker, farmer, and Sheila and Brenda Beckett, twin sisters who ran the village wool shop.  Like the children earlier, they stood in a line whilst Albert walked up and down in front of them, inspecting them like a squad of soldiers.

“Got quick hands, have you all?”

“We do all right,” laughed Sheila.

“Just follow my lead, and you should. The show’s tomorrow”

“It’s hardly a show,” said the vicar,” more a religious celebration as part of a commemoration of village life.”

“It’s always a show when I perform.”

Walter Parker yawned.

“What’s that,” snapped Albert.” Bored are you?”

“I’m not bored, just tired,” said Walter. “I’ve been up since the crack of dawn milking my cows.”

“Good.  No one is bored in my presence.  Now, is anyone coming to the pub?  I need to quench my thirst!”

Gordon took him to the Black Bull in the village square.  That was his local, where he and some fellow railwaymen would meet, smoke a pipe, have a couple of pints and talk about football, horse racing and the railways.  That night instead the conversation turned to Hitler, Chamberlain and the deteriorating international situation.  Everybody was worried about the future.  Gordon was particularly concerned.

“I lost my brother Charles in the Great War.  Blown to bits at Paschendale he was.  They never found a body.”

His friends between sips of Gilmour’s Ale, nodded to show they agreed and understood.

“I don’t know what you lot are all so worried about. There’ll be no war,” said Albert.  “Now look lively Gordon and get me another double whisky.”

Gordon sadly got up and went to the bar for another drink. This wasn’t like one of his normal nights out. Albert droned on and on and on, an opinion on everything, and he was costing him so much there’d be no money for to treat the children this week.When he went to bed that night he told Amy that he didn’t mean to be inhospitable, but the visitor quite plainly wasn’t their sort.  She kissed him and told him not to worry, as Albert wouldn’t stay that long.  Gordon wasn’t so sure.  He didn’t like travel plans without proper arrangements and no timetable had been set for Albert’s departure.  

The morning of the show dawned and Gordon knocked at the bedroom door before taking Albert’s morning brew in.               

“Sunday morning. Big Day.”

Albert took the tea and sipped at it.

“Bacon and egg for breakfast.”

“Sausage and tomatoes as well?” 

“No. We sometimes do that instead.  It’ll be ten minutes.”               

Albert rose, washed, shaved and dressed, before descending the stairs to consume his Sunday breakfast and monopolise Gordon’s Sunday Mirror.              

“Shall I put the wireless on?” said Amy. “It’ll help you relax before you head off to the church.”

Gordon put the radio on. The announcer was talking gravely about an ultimatum that had been sent to the German government at 9 O’clock that morning, demanding that Hitler withdraw his troops from Poland.  If no reply was received by 11 O’clock, war would have been deemed to have started. Gordon and Amy exchanged apprehensive glances. Albert continued to read the Sunday Mirror.  Gordon put his trilby hat on. It was Sunday so he wore his best, whilst Amy took down her coat.  Albert put down the paper and they set off for St.Mary’s.  As they walked through the streets people were gathering round in little groups of twos and threes, talking nervously about what would happen.  As they arrived at the church the vicar was standing outside with the bell ringing team.

“Mr. Chamberlain’s just been on the radio,” he said,” As Hitler hasn’t responded to his ultimatum we are at war.  The service will now be one in which we pray for the peace of the world, our freedom, and the wise guidance of our leaders.”

Albert puffed his cheeks out impatiently.

“I don’t mind what the service is, as long as the bells go to plan.”

The vicar gave a nervous cough.

“Erm, I’m sorry that will not be possible.”

“What?” Albert spluttered, his face turning pink.

Gordon took off his hat and pulled his short frame up as tall as he could and said, “At last week’s parish church council meeting the vicar told us that in the event of war ringing the bells is a signal for invasion.  People will think German tanks are coming down Barnsley Road.”

Albert’s head went from pink to beetroot purple.  He clenched his fists and shook with rage before turning tail and marching back the way he’d came.

“Is he all right?” said the vicar.

“Shall I go after him?” asked Amy.

“I don’t think he was ever all right,” said Gordon,” Leave him.  Let’s go into church and be with our real friends. I doubt he’ll stay long now.”

(Edited by Nicola Gleadall)