email contact :- R.A.OSBORNE@btinternet.com
THE OSBORNE FAMILY
My earliest memories are of 92 Oliver street, or “Oliver Cottage” according to the engraved stone plaque over the front door.
I was born there on 27th. January 1920. I wonder who lives there now, what is the house like after all these years and what do
the present owners know of the past.
Today it is a one way street, very narrow, with cars parked on both sides of the road, it is difficult to make a delivery at
any house and almost impossible for any large vehicle to drive down. It’s a good job the coal man or hay wagon doesn’t have
to call there nowadays.
Grandma and Grandpa Smart lived there together with Aunt Elsie. and Aunt Louie, as I was the first grandchild and living
there with these young aunts, I must have been terribly spoilt.
Every day, Grandma, scrubbed the doorstep with funny smelling soap and water from a big galvanised bucket, that she
had a job to carry, next she always polished the brass doorknocker and knob. They didn’t usually lock the front door during
the day, but if everyone went out, the front door key would be hanging down inside letterbox on a piece of string, everyone in
the street did the same and everyone knew the key would be there.
The street outside was very dusty and in the summer the water cart came round with its big water tank and sprinkler bar
on the back, to lay the dust which consisted mainly of dried up and powdered horse muck. There weren’t many motor cars or
lorries about and goods were delivered to houses on hand carts, which could be hired from a yard in Hood street, at a cost
of sixpence per day, larger items were transported on horse drawn carts or may be, which was very exiting, the occasional
steam wagon, there were hardly any motorcars. Horses pulled carts everywhere, delivering coal and other goods to the
houses, people gathered up the horse muck to put on their gardens, Grandpa always said it was “Good garden stuff.”
The few lorries that came along had probably been used in the first world war and looked like it, the cabs where the driver
sat were more like greenhouses on wheels.
The water in the gutters was brown when it rained, dirt and mud would tread into the house. Every house had a cast iron foot
scraper built into the wall at the side of the front door, but still the steps needed to be scrubbed every day.
When a driver left a horse for a little while, he didn’t tie it up, but hung a nose bag on it’s head so that the horse could munch
happily away at the chaff whilst the carter enjoyed his own chaff at the “White Elephant.”
The baker, was George Tarry, who came along every day with hot fresh bread straight from his bake house around the
corner in Milton Street. In fact there seemed to be small bake houses on every second street in Kingsley and Abington , the next
nearest one to us was Walt Russell in Shelley street. Half way up Oliver Street on the opposite side to Grandma’s was an outdoor
beer shop. When the streets were first built, someone had the bright idea of putting alleyways or “jitties” as we all knew them,
to connect all the streets from Oliver Street down to Moore Street. These alleys were just wide enough for someone walking with
a jug of beer and were a short cut between the outdoor beer licences and the bake houses. The only drink we saw in bottles
was fizzy lemonade, dandelion and burdock or ginger beer. All from Markham and Roberts factory at the top of the Junction. These
drinks were sold in glass bottles with a glass marble trapped in the neck, this marble was pushed against a rubber ring by the pressure
of the gas in the drink. To get at the drink a special wooden cup with a little plunger inside had to be used to push the marble down,
this had the dual purpose of releasing the pressure and preventing the drink from spraying every where, it was always a mystery to me
that the bottles did not burst. Markham and Roberts were famous for their ginger beer, which was also sold in gallon pottery jars that
are still sought after by collectors to this day.
On Sunday mornings no baking was done at home, but George Tarry or Walt Russell would oblige. On the way to St. Matthews
church or Kingsley Park Methodist’s, where I first went to Sunday school. The bake houses would be open and families would leave the
Sunday dinner there, to be cooked to perfection by the bakers.
This picture is “along the top” in Kingsley Park Terrace and shows my old Sunday school, with a tram waiting at St Matthews Church
On the way home from church, the dinner would be collected, carried in a large baking tray, too big to go in the small family
oven. Containing a joint of meat on a trivet, sizzling and dripping its succulent juices over the baked pudding which had been
carried in a separate jug and poured in at the last moment by long experience on part of the bakers, knowing when the church
service ended. The baked potatoes would also be around the meat.
Dad would carry the tray, mum would carry a jug of beer from the outdoor beer shop and the eldest child would carry the
empty pudding jug now filled with the gravy so that it would not spill on the way home.
There were a lot of little shops around Oliver street that women had set up in their front rooms, perhaps the husbands
had been killed in the war, there was Emily Hartwell who had a little newspaper shop on the left at the bottom of, I think Byron
street, from here every week came my favourite comic “Comic Cuts” that cost one penny as it was only black print on pink paper.
The first thing I looked at on the front page were the adventures of two tramps “Weary Willy and Tired Tim”
Mum and dad bought me a more up market, coloured comic, “The Rainbow” which cost twopence.
The nearest shop to Grandma’s was only two doors away, at number 98, this was only a little shop, up two steps into
“Brazier’s” front room, were they sold things like soap, candles and matches etc.
The place always stank strongly of paraffin, as just inside the door was a large metal drum of paraffin with a tap on it, this always
dripped on the wooden floor when customers filled their cans from it, what a fire hazard.!. I wonder if they have got rid of the smell yet?.
One of the vehicles that I particularly liked was the little milk float pulled by a white pony, the float had lots of shiny brass bits on
it and a big silver milk churn swinging on two pivots to keep it level. Grandma would take a big white jug out to the milkman and
he would turn on a brass tap, to fill a special measuring can with milk, then he poured it into the jug “A quart today please!”
The water cart was pulled by a big brown horse with white feet, I don’t know his name, there was a big tank on the cart,
with a water sprinkler bar at the back. In Summer, the horse went slowly round the streets, laying the dust, boys would run behind
and have their legs sprinkled with water to cool them.
They would laugh and run after any wagon and hang on the back to get a ride, I was told I must never do this. Drivers never
called “Walk On!” to their horses, as they do in all the films nowadays, it was more like “Git Up!!.” The horses knew what they
meant and would walk on, just the same.
Most of the streets around Kingsley and Abington were cobbled, as also was the main East Park Parade leading down town as
every one said. You either went along the top, down town, or down the junction where “ Well’s” fish and chip shop did a roaring
trade selling a “piece and a pennorth or a haporth of batter bits.”
The corporation used mainly steam wagons and steam rollers to repair the roads, the steam rollers were actually made in
Northampton by “Allchins” who did funny old steam “Charrabangs” or “Charras” as well, these were used for factory outings etc.
Tram lines were a danger to people riding their “bone shakers” or bicycles, as the thin wheels easily got stuck in them and they
were always set in slippy cobble stones.
Dad told me that his own “bone shaker” broke in half as he was riding down “Gypsy Lane” (now Kingsley road), just before
the “Romany” where there was an old wooden bridge.
Many of the side roads were potholed, just stones and earth, with a perhaps a little gravel thrown onto hot tar. Carts all had big
wheels so the holes in the road did not effect them too much and the horses could stand up better without slithering about on them
as they would on modern tarmac.
The gutters were cobble stones, although the pavements were slabs and in better condition than they are today. Sometimes a horse
would fall down and a small crowd would gather round while the driver tried to calm it and get it on its feet again. I remember
one-day, dad leaving me on the pavement while he held a horse’s head and put his coat over it as the man tried to undo its harness.
In the winter it was always icy and grandpa used to screw special studs into his horses shoes to help them stand up
We had an Airdale dog and one day grandma was very upset because the dog had been run over and killed in Junction Road .
I remember her words to this day. “These new Motorcars go so fast, they don’t give anyone a chance”.
Grandpa had a pony and trap that we used to go to town in, there were no traffic lights or parking problems, he would just
leave the pony tied to a lamp post with a nosebag full of hay for him to munch and be happy.
On the main Kettering Road at the corner of Oliver St., by Smith’s, the grocers, stood a milestone that said Northampton
one mile, Kettering fourteen.
I never saw it, but opposite the “White Elephant”, just along Abington Grove, there to be, the gallows, where the highway men,
who preyed on people at the nearby racecourse, were hanged. I suppose the judge would say “Take him a mile from town and hang
him!”
A few years ago, builders were making an extension to the doctors surgery at the corner of the Crescent and dug up a lot of
old human bones, which seems to confirm the story.
Of course we could have gone into town on the electric tram that went as far as St. Matthews church, where it would turn
round and go back or “Down Town” as people would say.
The tram itself would not actually turn round, but St. Matthews was the end of the line, the tram was the same at both ends
and could be driven from either end. There was no front or back and whilst the driver walked through to the other end of
the tram, carrying his driving handle, the conductor would swing the long pole round, that connected the tram to the
overhead electric wires.
Off the tram would go, back to town with the conductor turning the handle of his ticket machine calling out “Tickets Please!,”
it cost one penny from the White Elephant and penny halfpenny, from St. Matthews.
Trams turning round at Kingsthorpe
Let’s go to the rest of the family for a little while and then come back to Oliver St.. My dad could not have been out of
the army very long, he had served as a signaller with the Royal Garrison Artillery in Ireland, where there was a lot of trouble
while the war with Germany was still on, some of our soldiers had to be spared and sent to Ireland..
Dads younger brother Ernie had given a false age to get in the army early, he was really still too young to join up and
was now serving with heavy machine gun platoon fighting at Gallipoli.
Dads elder brother Fred was already in the Northamptonshire Yeomanry, but before them all, the first to join up was
my granddad, old Josiah Osborne, he was already a member of the Northampton Volunteers, dad could not manage to get
in the army at first, the doctors said he had flat feet.
In 1894 the Osborne family lived in Poole St. and at the age of fourteen, dads oldest brother Albert was already working
at Macquire’s pawn shop in Marefair.
Every
morning Albert had to run from Poole St. to meet Macquire on West Bridge,
collect the keys from him and run
ahead to open the shop and have it ready for business by the time Macquire arrived there.
Upon leaving school, my father John Reginald or Jack as he was always called, also went to work at Macquire’s.
One night Albert and Jack came home from work to Poole St. and upon undressing for bed counted 119 fleas on the bed
that had jumped off them.
In 1908 when Albert was 27 years old, he was working in a pawn shop in Coventry and met Aunt Ethel, they were married
on April 17th. 1911 at St. Thomas’s Church , Coventry.
Later Albert came back to Northampton again to work with Macquire, this time in the shop at the corner of Earl St.
Albert played the violin in various bands and although he didn’t get home from the shop until 10 o’clock at night, he
would change and play with one of the local bands, in this picture, he was with Marshall’s band.
My dad was manager of a pawnshop in Kettering in 1913 and my mum Daisy Smart was living at 99 Milton St. when dad
wrote to her on Feb.3rd.
The Osbornes, Smarts and Marriotts all lived in Kingsley and used to play football together, they also belonged to a harriers
club and would run round Holcot etc. or so dad told me.
In 1914 dad did war work as an inspector in an armaments factory in Coventry, he lodged at 20 Chandos St. I think he
also worked in a pawnshop there.
On 30Th. Sept. mum and dad were married at St. Matthews Church Northampton and then dad joined the army going to
Catterick Camp.
There was a very bad flu epidemic in 1918 when thousands died with it, dad was very ill whilst still in the army and mum
went to nurse him. I think this was at Hollesly Bay.
My uncle Albert and dad had both worked and trained as pawn brokers for some years at Macquire’s pawn shops. Albert
had returned from Coventry after Marrying Ethel and once more worked for Macquire at the shop on the Mounts. Dad was
away at Kettering and then in the army, Albert had to train a new assistant to help with the shop on the corner of Earl St.
this assistant was Claud Jones.
Albert was now married and wanted to start his own business, he had already put out feelers and when Macquire heard of
this he stormed into the shop and gave Albert the immediate sack. Although Albert was not ready to start on his own yet,
this is what he was forced to do, he was living in Oliver St. with his wife Ethel and found premises at the top of Broad St.
In order to raise cash for his new business, Albert had to sell up everything in Oliver St., to the extent that that Ethel
and he used two orange boxes as a dining table when they first started.
Albert had wanted at first, to open a shop at 83 Sheep St. which at the time belonged to a doctor Stewart, but they did
not want to rent out the place, only sell it outright, of course he had not the money at the time.
At the outbreak of war, a Welsh regiment took over the place in Sheep St. and afterwards, Albert was able to acquire it.
( The shop not the regiment).
In the meantime, with dad being away and Albert having left, Macquire could not manage the shop on the Mounts and gave
it to the man Albert had trained, Claud Jones. As a matter of fact, Irene and I bought a diamond engagement ring from Claud
Jones at that self-same shop when we first became engaged.
Michael Jones inherited the shop from his father but concentrated on jewellery, he is one of the largest jewellers in the town
now at other premises.
A.E.Osborne are still pawn brokers in the town to this day, the son being Reginald who was named after my father. Reg. was
born over the shop in Sheep St in 1918.
Ethel who had been helping in the shop was very ill and when my dad came out of the army he worked there to help Albert.
Back to Oliver St. then, inside the house, the passage was very dark, the first room on the left was the parlour, this room
was not used very much and always smelled a bit damp, but in here was the piano with two brass candle holders and foot
peddles that I could not reach.
I always had to wash my hands before being allowed to touch it, one tune I remember that aunt Else used to play was
“Down on misery farm”.
My mum, my aunts and grandma all played the piano and tried to teach me to go up and down the scales by playing simple
tunes like “poor old Joe the chimney sweeper” time and time again. I always wanted to play some kind of instrument, but
when my sister was born my mother was very ill and almost died, she had some kind of virus which left her completely deaf.
From then on we didn’t have any music in the house, not even a wireless set, until much later.
There were no deaf aids in those days and I had a simple sign language if I wanted a drink etc. Grandpa Smart made her
an ear trumpet and things were a lot easier then, Mum always preferred it to the deaf aid she had later, as it did not make any
funny noises.
This front room had sliding doors that opened up onto the middle room, the top of the doors were glass and they made
a big rattling noise when they were pushed open along their metal tracks, making one big room at Christmas.
The middle room just had some chairs in it with a picture on the wall marked Philadelphia, it was not a picture of Philadelphia
but of a young lady sucking a straw.
Perhaps grandpa had brought it back from there, or uncle Sam, who was still in America, had sent it, I never did find out.
Hanging on the wall was a glass box with some poor little dead birds perched on dried branches and twigs in it, I didn’t like
looking at them. Along the passage was another room where everything went on, this was really where we all lived, sat down
and had our meals etc.
In the middle stood a strong table with chairs along one side and at both ends, along the wall separating us from that noisy
lot the Glen’s family next door at number 94, was a long black horse hair couch with just a funny curled up head rest at one
end and short fancy legs, aunt Louie was always lying on this couch.
Hanging on the wall at the end of the couch was a large wall clock, with a long, hanging pendulum that fascinated me as it went
slowly tick tock, tick tock, all the day long.
A lot of grandma’s cooking was done on the shiny black kitchen range at the far end of the room, that is all the stuff that had to
be boiled, it had boiling rings on top of the hot fire that you could see through the bars and do toast.
Grandma said that you could see pictures in the fire, my face used to get all red and hot as I stared through the bars looking for the
pictures.
The oven on the left side of the range was not used much , but in the winter, grandma always put a brick in it to get hot and then
wrap it in a piece of blanket to warm my bed, at the other end of the range was a shiny brass tap with hot water in it.
Every day the range was cleaned with black lead sprinkled on a brush, it was difficult to get the black off your hands, my hands
always seemed to attract dirt, the brass work was made shiny with “brasso”.
In the corner opposite the range was a built in corner cupboard where the cups and saucers were kept, but my favourite thing
of all was the top drawer. This was grandpa’s drawer, it always smelled of oil and was full of small screws, nails, nuts and bolts,
solder and other odd pieces of metal. I loved to tip them out on the table and sort them out.
Grandpa used to breed roller canaries, because they sang so well and he would make nesting boxes and cages for them on
the kitchen table, I learned how to cut the wires, clean them, dip them in the killed acid flux and solder them.
On Saturdays, grandpa went into town, he usually brought back some little fish called sprats and fried them himself on the
kitchen range. You could smell them all over the house, he loved them, but I could not touch them because they had still got eyes
in their heads and had tails on them.
At the very back of the house was the scullery, apart from boiling up a kettle, here was the only supply of hot water in the
house, this was in the copper, bricked into one corner with a chimney to take the smoke out and with a wooden lid, on Mondays,
grandma boiled up the washing in it, and got it out steaming hot, with a pair of wooden tongs.
The scullery was only a very small room with whitewashed brick walls and a red brick floor. There was just room for an old
deep water sink, with one cold water tap and a small gas cooker, at the side of which stood a small table, scrubbed every day
with hot soapy water until it was white, upon this all the food was prepared.
There was no electricity in the house at all and gas was only laid on for lights in the downstairs rooms. When I went to bed
at night a candle had to be lit to see us upstairs, this was carried up in a candle stick and left on a table at the side of the bed for me
I was always afraid of the gas lights, when they were first lit they always went pop and sometimes had to be put out quickly because
they were alight in the pipe and made a funny hissing noise.
Grandma didn’t like thunder storms, it was the lightning that she was afraid of and always rushed around hiding all pieces of metal,
such as knives and forks and turning mirrors round, so that the lightning would not strike them.
When I didn’t like the thunder and wanted to hide, she always said it was just someone tipping out a cartload of bricks.
Now out through the back door into that wonder of wonders, the garden, or that’s what it should have been!. Just outside the
door was a rustic or trellis archway, in the Summer beautiful smelling pink roses rambled all over it. The small part of the garden this
side of the trellis was grandmas only little bit of it, where she grew a few little pansies and things, in a narrow bed at the side of
the blue brick path.
The brick path led through the archway to the rest of the garden, this was grandpa’s working part, where I used to help him
all day long, whilst grandma got on with the house work. Aunt Louie and aunt Else could not help because they had to go to
work, both being machinist making shoes, in Singlehurst’s shoe factory, at the top end of Oliver Street.
