Inchcock Today – Memories Evoked + Odes

Looking at an old photograph can stir memories, even in some Doreen Dementia suffers, like I am. So here are my initial ruminations of looking at this picture… They may come over as a little out of sync, but one’s thought triggers another. I had to be adding them than before I wrote what I was doing… then I forgot what I had started typing. Sometimes remembering later, begin to correct things, and another unrelated memory pops up… to be forgotten about again. Later on, I got all confused but carried on anyway. Sorry about this.

This now embarrassing, brownie-camera photographicalisation shows the signs of authentic poverty in which I grew up. Although, at the time, I believed we were luckier than some of the residents of Brookfield Place. But not many.

Obviously, I was scrubbed up using carbolic soap. I was redressed into pants that didn’t fit; the crumbling walls on the 1899-built two-up, two-down terraced house make me cringe when I see it now. See that? I was nine house bricks high at the time. Not much taller now!

Having a photo taken was an event in those days. I believe Mr Wright, whose family lived at the end of the small terrace, number 10 (I might be wrong, of course). Mr Wright was the only person nearby who was well off enough to own a camera then and generously took pictures and got them developed and given to those in them. A wonderful man.

Christine. Mr Wright and Jane are on holiday in Mablethorpe! I recall feeding the family dog Rover (No pets were allowed on the caravan site in those days.) each time Mr, Mrs Wright, and daughter Christine went on holiday, taking Sister Jane with them; after Jane returned home, I’d better explain that while I think of it.

A better-off side of the family, with five boys, wanted to adopt Sister Jane. Dad opposed this, the fights started, and it was agreed that Jane would of out to Italy with the family. Which left me thinking, Jane was ‘out there’ having a ball, while I was left with Dad (Mother had done another runner from the police). Had to do the cooking and what cleaning I could family. Clean out and set the fire but did not start it until I saw Dad coming home. He thought it was overspending to make a fie for only one person. Give him his dinner, and get the things ready for the morning in the coal house ready for clearing out and resetting again in the morning. So, the crux of it was; that I was a smidge jealous, thinking that Jane was out there, in the sunshine, wanting for nothing, living the life of Riley… While Jane was ‘over there’ thinking that I was at home, living the life of Riley! Hahaha! In truth, poor Jane was miserable and had it a lot worse than me! She was molested, had to be a maid to the boys… When we found out we were both miserable, we had to laugh. As I understand it, each of the lads, who are now men, has been arrested and found guilty of various nefarious offences. Worra family!

Recollections of the folks living near my beloved Brookfield Place came to mind.

From the left, Sister Janet, Inchcock, Christine Wright, Mrs Wright and Walter. Can’t remember what we were doing or where we were when taking the snap. Either Mr Wright to son Brian would have taken it?

This picture, I do remember having being taken. A Door-knock photographer took it (2/3d a photo 11p in today’s money). Not cheap! The rather distinguished-looking (I don’t know how or why I remembered that?) cameraman said it’s usual to have a girl and boys toy in hand. I recall Jame going up to get her teddy from the bedroom, and I nipped next door to borrow a ball from my mate Jack. On my behalf, returning to have the picture taken. But putting on that forced smile was almost painful for me. Har-har!

A terrible picture of my blonde locks. This brings a scary memory back to me. Often I would be in the backyard. Our house was about eight-foot from a railway viaduct. On the left in the top photo) I would be playing or chopping wood in the backyard and the train; it was a busy line, with Arkwright Street Station, high above the houses. We got goods, commuter and the London Express’s all passing throughout the day and night. The houses shook, the windows rattled, the light swayed…

Yet, they never woke me up or bothered me because I grew up with it. Later, when we moved to Ipswich Circus, it was so quiet that I couldn’t sleep for months! True!

I lost my plot there, didn’t I? Sorry, where was I?…

Oh, yes! In the backyard, a neighbour usually would run at me and start to beat me around the head. This is all genuine! I had to wait until they had stopped, to find out why they were clouting me… had I done something naughty (not unknown), or as it usually was, the hot ashes falling from the trains had set my hair on fire again. (Which, more often than not, was the case)

It’s not surprising that I started losing my hair at 20-years of age?

Christine Wright, in front of her house in Brookfield Place.

Not that Inchcock is creeping out behind her? Hehe!

I’ve no memory of this photograph being taken.

I think this one was taken in Wilford or West Bridgford.

Christine and Janet got me to pretend to be knocked over and lay under the Morris Ten car. Haha!

The next one, I can vaguely remember.

The hosepipe was out in the backyard. Fed through the window from Chrissie’s kitchen tap. It’s the summertime, and someone will get soaked, methinks… I vaguely remember grabbing the hosepipe in the cause of self-protection. When those two got together, there was always a danger of me being injured, embarrassed or molested! In this case, all three. And I got a good soaking, to boot!

♫ Memories are made of these… ♫

My family, as such, were Methodists, Wesleyan,
Dad rarely went to church; Mother was an Aryan…
We soon split up, first off to Sicily, went sister Jane,
Brother Pete joined the army to help keep sane…
Mother ran from the police, again and again…
So it was just Dad and me in the main!

Education and affluence, to me, were strange…
No class, I never heard of a counterpane…
Then, I had no bad habits from which to refrain.
As you’ll read above, I got set on fire by many a train,
I’d never dined out or been on holiday or on a jet plane…
I used to get bad headaches, not a posh migraine…
But life was never dull or mundane!

I soon learned that nothing in life is free or certain!
An outside toilet, in winter it froze up, even the chain!
The only interest in sex came from the Chaplain…
I never went abroad, to Italy, France or Bahrain,
Shopped at jumble sales in search of a bargain…
I was considered weird cause I didn’t like John Wayne!
My searches for romance were all in vain!

My hopes for my future were low and uncertain,
I’d sit in my flat, glumly looking out through the curtain,
Plans and designs were ruined cause of my scatterbrain,
At least I’ll never become part of Britain’s brain drain!
My sanity was fluctuateable and hard to retain…
Timourousness, trepidation, and a cruel self-disdain…
My confidence and self-esteem had been mislain!
Don’t suppose I’ll ever find them again?

Is my Alto-Ego me, or am I?
Why do I even wonder why?
Would I be happier as a troglodyte?
Would I still like Marmite?
I think I’m losing this brain fight…
My last driblets of sanity are taking flight…

I’ve tried to do moral things and not to be profane,
Up to now, I’ve avoided trying out cocaine,
From alcohol, greed and bullying, I abstain,
Yet feel my life is almost transmundane…
Are my thoughts really mine or nongermane?
Shit!… I’ve forgotten what I was going to write!


Inchcocks first solo visit to the Slab Square: In 1955

Inchcock then & now Haha!

Despite the poverty, I was at my happiest…
In my younger years, and almost positive!
Full of vigour and at my determinest…
I set out one Sunday to slab Square, looking my nattiest!
First time alone on a trolleybus, at my swankiest!

43 Trolleybus in town

The bus ticket cost all of 3d,
Today that would be about ½ a new penny,
I wanted to get a Sunday paper, you see…
Take it to Dad; make him proud of me!
But the newsvendor asked, where’s your Daddy?
I didn’t realise he knew my Dad, Harry!
He told me to take myself home and hurry!
But he did give me a newspaper for Dad, for free!

West Bridgford (WBUDC) bus

So, I did, on a posh, pretty coloured WBUDC,
West Bridgford Urban District Council, you see?
We didn’t argue with adults back then, tactfully…
Agreeing with grown-ups, had desirability…
Cause of their clipping you around the earhole, ability!

I hastened home…

I hurried home, in hope of a visit from Auntie Kerry…
She liked to bath me, which always affected my psychoactivity,
I think she had some habits, mayhaps, eccentricity?
She scrubbed me up well, with dexterity, not dignity!
I always greeted her arrival with emotional glee!
Not understandingly, but happy… and expectantly…
Knowing (praying for) what she was about to do to me! ♥
I longed for her visits, and was her greatest devotee,
And to think that people said we were an odd family? Hehe!

Well, perhaps we were…

How things change… Hehehe!

Good Morning, all!

Fings I read, that triggered the memory!

Wednesday 8th December 2021

Fings I read, sometimes those I view…
Glaringly show a change in my milieu,
Viciousness, cruelty and lack of virtue,
Growing greed, drugs, alcohol, always in need,
I do some little Odes to go with each preview,
I’ll have to set myself a curfew…

For I’ve a lot of things, I have to do…
I don’t want to run late, causing a hullabaloo!
Shortly to the dentist, I’ll have to go…
I’m not scared or nervous, oh, no. No…
No sweat or nervousness from me does flow…
I shall keep calm, steady as I go…
Any falling of tears, I’ll stop; I know,
Ah, now I’ll have to stop in mid-flow…
For wandering off the topic, I did go!
I sense brewing up within me, a foggy mind fiasco!

Spotted on BBC Site!

Where they got the forty times from, I know not,
It was now more than a dozen, but that’s enough, what?
After clarificationing, the women officers were rather hot…
I thought, on one occasion, a taser would be shot!
Each raid increased my usage of the chamber pot,
But they did give me a food parcel, quite a lot,
Gin, biscuits, steak, turkey, crisps and whatnot,
For my not being a moaning fusspot?

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Sense of Humours Demise!

This brought back into my damaged mind…
A time when folks were more pleasant and kind,
Jokes at others expense… but no one gained?
Our sense of humour still remained…
Now the PC brigade is unrestrained…
The worlds do righters; are they all unsained?
It’s easier in this world to be scatterbrained,
As the compassion and empathy are slowly drained!

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Like Doctors and dentists alike,
They now wish patients would take a hike!
Coronavirus, now Omicron with its recent spike…
People out without masks on, buying up the Nike,
Christmas contact, so virus spreading – Crikey

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NHS Maintain Some Humour!

The standard or garden employees of the NHS,
Well, I thank them all, Heaven thank them, and bless!
Mistreated, the Politician pay them a rise, a pittance!
These expense-fiddlers live in several houses, all chandeliered!
Well, it’s time that the righteous mutineered…
Then strikers would be genuinely feared…
But the NHS staff will not – though their hopes are withered…
Will the MPS stop fiddling if they are ever sobered?
Will Nurses etc., continue to get backstabbed?
Will the NHS staff stop getting clobbered?
Will MP’s ever stop getting bribed?
Do they still get free drinks, thus get imbibed?
The Virus … Has anyone checked…
With whom the MPs are necking!
No Expense Form Claim checking!

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The Law

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The old folk, most of them have still got the oomph!
To laugh at themselves and be a little pottymouth,
Edinborough, Manchester and Portsmouth…
To Weymouth, Nottingham and Yarmouth…
Political Correctness? They’ve had enough!
Try telling them what to do – they’re pretty tough!.

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Not a lot of folk in Nottingham are aristocratic,
They are famed for being somewhat autocratic!
Shoplifters, druggies, muggers, old uns arthritic…
ATM con artists, a few have jobs, some even autistic…
Alcoholics, Methodists, Atheists, and Catholic,
Muslims aplenty, we house them after taking them in…
But no complaints from me, for me it’s a win-win!
Apart from the Escooterers, they are a danger and chaotic,
Students from afar, all corners of the globe, some are Balearic!
Without them, life would be quiet, not hectic,

I’ll stop now; I’ve got to take my diuretic,
Got carers coming to dose me? It’s pathetic!
But, that’s me, the human Guinea pig, innit?
Then I have to shower, change of clothes, be contortionistic,
Frustrating, but I don’t get apoplectic or dramatic…
If I shave without cutting myself, I think that’s cosmic,
Lousy Ode today… the whole this is diabolic…
I’m off then, radio, later on, the Barnsley philharmonic.

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Well, I got that wrong, but happily so,
It was Brass Band music, great, kiddo!
Blidworth Welfare Brass Band, too,
They were good, credit where it’s due…
They played absolutely excellent. Yahoo!

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Do we, Don’t We Get a TV?

The Tale Of TV Debate!

Mother wanted a TV set, I wanted a TV set, but Dad was content with the radio

Dear Mother as a domineering, bullying and intimidating woman, who usually got her way, via, violence, superbly applied intimidation, and if all else failed, would turn on the waterworks. But on the issue of us buying a TV, and I believe it is the only time, Dad stood his ground, and refused to buy or rent one!

Dad was content with his ‘Archers’,  ‘Billy Cotton Band Show’, ‘Take it from here,’ ‘Many Bindings In The Marsh’ and the ‘Navy Lark’. I tried to listen to the ‘Journey Into Space’ serial whenever I could, which fascinated me. But Dad wasn’t having, ‘Such rubbish to listen to, a man in space, Humph!’ Of course, it was almost comical if you listen to it today. Good news, though, for anyone interested; Occasionally, Radio Four Extra broadcast some episodes! ♥

Cast for The World in Peril & Operation Luna episodes

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Days Of Debates (Fights)

After days of arguments, fights, bad language, threats and utter pandemonium, we were no nearer to convincing Dad. Mother, not a Royalist in any sense, even tried to tempt Dad by telling him the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth 11 was being shown in two days time… He did hesitate for a moment, and inquired as to how much a TV would cost to buy or rent? Mum got the local paper with the adverts on it: A Ferguson TV, she told Dad, would only cost us £39, Wigfall’s rental is 6/11d (35p) a week. Then we need a license, that’ll be £5… Dad was speechless, started gagging, and refused point-blank to us having a TV in the house! That was the end of that, for want of a better word, discussion!

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A Stroke Of Good Luck!

That day, we had new next-door neighbours arrive, the Hartleys. Mother (Name unknown), Father Leslie, and son Jack. I soon took to liking Jack, a little younger than I by a year or so. A tall lad, cheeky and cheerful most of the time, e had some great times as pair of vagabonds roaming the streets. Haha! They had just arrived from Kingston.

But, the highlight of the day was that they had to unload things and I gave them a hand, and I and spotted in the back of the van… A TV SET! And, Jack said it had both channels, BBC and ITV on it! Yes! By the time things were all in, I was given a condensed cream sandwich and mug of coffee for my helping. Then we watched some telly. The set was a combined one they had just bought last week, with a radio in it.

I thought, well this could be something to tell Dad about, then we might get a TV of our own… But when Leslie told me how much it cost them, I then realised there was not even a cat-in-hells chance of Dad spending £95 on a set! I was often invited by Jack, to go watch the TV when something was on that he thought I might enjoy. I vaguely recall seeing The Quatermass Experiment, which started my passion for the series. The daily screening time was very limited as I recall back then; 16:00 to 22:30hrs or thereabout. So little choice on the BBC.

One programme on the BBC Jack and I liked, was The Magic Circle. A magicians show, Magicians: George Grimmond, David Nixon and Col-Ling Soo on it as regulars. ITV on the other hand had a more varied choice by 1955. Including Lassie, Colonel March of Scotland Yard, and Hopalong Cassidy.

Not the actual Hartleys TV, but similar.

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As I mentioned earlier, the Quatermass series was the top for me on TV! Here are some photos found that stirred my memory box. So much so, that I’ve just sillily ordered some DVD’s from Amazon, three episodes of TV series and two films! Ah, well, hope I live long enough to view them! Hahaha!

The earlier versions of Quatermass film and TV series were not a disappointment, at all. They were very close to how I imagined it to be when I read the books!

Quatermass Photos, TV and Films DVD

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1953 Coronation On Someone’s TV

We moved from that unhappy home, after Mother had been on the run from the police for a couple of years, and after Brother Pete left to join the army, Dad & I moved to Sneinton Dale. Which turned out to be an even more horrendous place to live; Mother was caught and came home.

However, we did get a TV at last. Mother got it from Wigfalls,  they intention was that Wiggies call to empty the box, and anything over the 3/10p rental, is returned tohe client, in this case Mother! Whch meant a load of foreign coins and suitably-sized washers were in the box!

Anyway, she scarpered again, after another bout of conning people out of their cash, this time it was for three years before they got caught up with her, six months, into court. Ah well!

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That’s it folks!

More Later! Alligator.

Inchcock’s pictorial Walk along the Trent Embankment

♫ Down By the Riverside ♫


Inchy alighted the tram at the wrong stop, and set off on his walk that he enjoyed so much, despite the crippled feet, knees and hip he accrued during it! Tsk!


The fool walked over the field, through Wilk’s car park over the road and nearly got himself clobbered be these three burks of Pavement Cyclists!


Took a photo of the old halfpenny bridge – given that name cause then it cost a halfpenny to walk over it – now it carries the new tram to Clifton.

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He bumped into these to reprobates of fishermen: It turned out they were two lads he worked with 30 years ago at Scan Security, and boy did he enjoy hissen getting all their news and having a natter for over an hour with them. Unfortunately he can’t remember their names, but did recall the things they got up to together in the days of yore working at Pork Farms and York sites… two of the best blokes one could have as partners in Security.


He forced himself to leave the lads and moved on down the river, started to feed the geese but stopped when he remembered there is a £60 instant fine if anyone gets caught feeding them!

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Inchy pressed on only to be confronted by two more Pavement Cycling idiots!


For no particular reason the twit took a photograph of his legs in the dead leaves when he came to cross over the road. He’s losing it again I think?


Sentimentality overcame him when in the distance he saw his old school had just one of the three buildings left – two had been replaced by apartments it looked like.


He walked on over the fields and into the ‘Rock (Memorial) Gardens’ where as a young ankle-snapper, he and his schoolmates were barred from for various reasons…


As he walked through the now dilapidated gardens to the one-time fish pond he was mightily impressed with the colouration of the trees there.


Queen Victoria’s statue was in a right state despite the Council trying to keep off the yobs and vandals by erecting a fence to protect her. Tsk!


The view of the main gates from inside reminded him of the shelters, now cleaned up somewhat, where he used to meet the gals for a fag and a bit of slap and tickle – ah, that’s the reason they were barred from the gardens!

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He called at the WC to find it all locked up and cobwebbed Tsk! As he mounted the steps to the main gates intent on getting a photo from the other side, he became curious of a man and woman’s activities in the pond. The man had torn off a branch from a tree and was using it to fish something out of the water, so he took some photo’s of them. The woman went over to the man and as he pulled out a child’s scooter from the water he shook his fist and shouted something at Inchy that Inchcock couldn’t hear of course. Inchcock beat a hasty retreat from the gardens, forgetting to take his photo of the main gates. Of course it was not fear or anything like that, that made him hobble-hastily away – it was because he didn’t want to lose his temper with the grown up vandal/yob and hurt him.   WWarnLie 


Inchcock took a photo of Trent Bridge as he approached it, just before he did his Whoopsiedangleplop on some leaves down onto his bottom! Luckily no one was about to enjoy it or laugh!.


Down Arkwright Street as was, and into and through the Meadow area.

DSCN0022 Inchy nearly had an altercation with yet another Pavement Cyclist, but managed to get a partial shot of the Memorial gates in the background.


The play area with the kids using F, C & B words as they played happily, probably they were just trading drugs as they were spitting at each other.


As he left the Meadows area he spotted the Brookfield Court old peoples complex. He used to live on Brookfield Place in the Meadows where this got its name from presumably, but that was 60 odd years ago… blimey, it was too!


Up towards the train station and yet another Pavement cyclist belted passed him from behind! These Swines were prolific today. Humph!


Just passed the station, he called into Tesco and amazingly another pack of strawberry jam fresh cream cakes jumped into his basket?


He crosed the Nottingham canal and threw some food in for the ducks, but when the wino’s emerged from under the bridge he moved on cause it wasn’t the usual couple of them, but at least seven of em looking up at him! Shame, cause the photo looks nice and serene dunnit?


Onward into town and the fool fed the pigeons risking a fine – the Wally!


As he came out of the shopping centre he’s walked through the crowds were getting thicker…


Up into the slab square, where the great Nottingham shoplifters.. er public, continued to show their disregard for safety, even one woman just walking in front of a tram with her kid in the pram!/!?


The a-fresco café’s were doing their usual roaring trade…


As he got towards his bus-stop, he took a shot of the Watson Fotheringill designed frontage that he admires so. A lot of his stuff has been demolished by the crude and blatantly uncouth Nottingham City Council 

Catching his L9 bus meant the end of his marathon poddle about.

But he met the lady tenant of his flats on the bus…

The one he has a hankering for… oh yes!

That made him forget about his aches and pains for a bit!

TTFN all.

Inchcocks Memories Invoked by One old Photograph


Down the alleyway between the cafe and the Naval Club was where my doctors was situated: Dr Foley. An elderly woman with a no fuss attitude, I liked her – I can picture her now – with her fussing and stern assistant/pharmacist/nurse who would light the gas-fire in the waiting room with a loud bang and flash of flame. I was on her books from 1949 to 1969.

The cafe (Can’t remember the name, something Latin I think? No doubt someone will be able to inform me I hope) The owner hired young near-do-wells like myself to sell hot dogs at the weekends in the city centre. I think they sold for 9p beefburgers 1/-. They were stored in hot water in compartments in the heavy and hard to push trolley base. The onions were horrible. Keeping folk from nicking the watered down ketchup and Daddies sauce was a problem.

To the right was the Hong Kong Restaurant. On more than one occasion they were prosecuted for some hygiene irregularity but there were so many brothers and sisters in the family, that when they were barred from running food premises, they just sold it to another family member. Mother worked there for a while – and often she was given tins with no labels on them to open and mix ready for the cook to prepare in dishes. One day she told Dad that one of these tins had a bit of label left on it – it was Top Cat cat food! Later they were done yet again, but I never heard any of the locals complain and it was always busy?

The Italian restaurant I cannot remember ever seeing anyone ever eat there. We used to joke that it must be a cover-base for the Mafia.

In later year I’d frequent the Naval Club, where the beer was only so-so but the  company was great – I loved listening to the members stories of their war exploits.

In one of the  flats above the Hong Kong restaurant lived a lass by the name of Maureen Hutterswaithe – a bonny lass generous with her foibles as I remember… but that might not be a suitable story for  here. But it were grand!

Austin A40Arkwright Street, my stomping ground as an underfed impecunious little ragamuffin.

Not all good memories but much missed nowadays in this greedy uncaring atmosphere I laughingly call life.

Hey-ho – so now I’m feeling a bit low…