ST. PETERS STREET, NORTHAMPTON

MEMORIES OF ST. PETERS STREET by Brian Faulkner brian.faulkner@talktalk.net

St Peters Street was close to St Peters Church and faced an open area of land. It ran down to the junction of Elephant Lane

and Green Street and joined up with Freeschool Street at the other end. I lived at No.6 which was part of a short row of terrace

houses next to the Black Lion pub. At the Freeschool Street end there were more terraced houses on both sides. It was very narrow

and as children we were able to tie string to door knockers on both sides of the road, in a sort of zig zag, then knock one and run off.

As a door was opened it knocked the next knocker. What little bu**ers we were. Innocent though.

The house was lit by gas only. In the hall passageway was the gas meter into which pennies or shillings were fed.

Periodically the man from the gas board turned up to empty the meter. After he'd counted up the coins he calculated how much

gas had been used and gave some money back. It was called a rebate.  The front room was very posh with linoleum (lino) on the floor

a mat in front of the fireplace,and reserved for special occasions, although I was allowed in to play records on the wind up gramophone

sometimes. It had doors at the front to open to increase the volume . I remember that there was one funny record called

"The flies crawled up the window" on a 7" 78rpm very breakable black vinyl. It was the only entertainment in the house although

there was a small suitcase full of the usual board games.

The living room was rather dark, even when the gas mantles were lit. The fireplace was a very ornate black leaded cast

iron creation which was frequently cleaned and brush polished with a product called Zebo. The firebox in the centre had a grill at the

front which was perfect for making toast. On the left was an oven and on the right a water boiler with a tap at the front.  A door led

into the kitchen which had a shallow yellowy sink fed by a cold tap . The mod cons consisted of  a very basic gas cooker.  A door to the

cellar led  to steps under the house. At the front of the house was the cellar grating into which the coal delivery was poured.

This created lots of coal dust in the cellar, so nobody ventured in until it had settled. Refrigerators were a thing of the future.

We had larders to keep things cool. Also in the shadiest part of the garden we had a "meat safe" which was basically a wooden

cupboard which was aired with perforated zinc panels, large enough for air to circulate but small enough to keep flies away,

probably to keep the weekend joint in for the Sunday dinner.

When I lived in St Peters Street it was just a short walk to Castle Station. If I had no money to travel I would buy a penny platform

ticket and study the steam trains as they arrived and departed, noting the numbers and ticking them off in my Ian Allen train number book.

With another penny I could use a machine that stamped out aluminium labels. It had a big dial with all the letters and numbers round

the edge with a metal pointer mounted in the centre to choose each letter or number. The chocolate machines were still on the

platform although of course they were empty because of the rationing.

During the school holidays my father gave me a few shillings to "keep out of the way" as he put it. On those occasions I would take

some jam sandwiches and a bottle of lemonade and catch the "Blizzie Flyer" as we called it. It always left from Platform 5. It was an

old saddle tanker plus two third class carriages steaming the way to Blisworth and Roade. At Blisworth we alighted and walked along the

lane to where a bridge crossed the railway line. There was a long field at that point which ran parrallel to the line with signal boxes at each

end called Upton and Gayton. There were always lots of us schoolboys there eagerly watching the semaphore signal arms clatter up and

down to signify an approaching train. This was the main line to the North and we hoped that the steaming giants would have curved brass

plates over the wheels with a name on. The cry would go up "it's a namer" as it steamed through, and another number was ticked off.

It was a simple pleasure although in August the jam sandwiches were a magnet for the pesky wasps.

It was just at the point when diesel locomotives were being introduced and the mail train between London and Holyhead was frequently

hauled by 10000 and 10001, as a double header. It was the beginning of the end for the romantic but sooty days of steam.

I never knew who owned the "long field". He never bothered us and he could never have known that a happy grateful group of young

"trespassers"  went home tired and contented at the end of the day.

 Click here to read Brian's memoirs.