I Am Words book by Tamworth Borough Council

New Writing from the workshops in Tamworth, Staffordshire Edited by Mal Dewhirst First Published 2016

© 2016 Main text and poems attributed to Mal Dewhirst are his copyright. © 2016 Other poems and stories are copyright of the authors to whom they are attributed. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations that are annotated as such. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the authors. e rights of Mal Dewhirst and the attributed contributors have been asserted in accordance with Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988. Designs and images by Mal Dewhirst and Anna Toone.

e project was funded by Arts Council England.

Published by Tamworth Borough Council Arts and Events Team.

Contents Introduction ................................................................................6 e Poem at Started It All We Are Tamworth ....................................................................7 My Favourite Room ..............................................................10 Creating New Sayings e Tamworth Picnic ..........................................................12 Reflections of e Market Market Day in Tamworth ..................................................13 In the Market ............................................................................14 Reflections of e Market A Stroll Down Watling Street ..........................................15 Imaginged Scenes A Morning in 913 ....................................................................16 Aethelflaeda Surveys Modern Tamworth ..................17 Collaborative Poem Watching ....................................................................................18 Poems to Promote the Town Tamworth ..................................................................................19 Flying e Flag ........................................................................20 Memories Tamworth’s Open Air Baths ..............................................22 Tamworth Long Gone ..........................................................24 Kettlebrook Road ..................................................................25 A Character Study ‘Ferret’ ..........................................................................................28 Some oughts and Ideas from Social Media ..........29 Some Taster Creative Writing Exercises ....................31 Acknowledgements ..............................................................33 Workshopping Words ..........................................................34

Introduction It has been said that there is a book in everyone, if not a book then maybe a short story and I would say definitely a poem. I Am Words aimed to help find those stories through a series of creative writing workshops held in Tamworth during 2015. e workshops explored the town though its history, architecture and communities, enabling the participants to use these as prompts to develop the new writing that is reproduced in this volume. e complete course of exercises from the workshops can be found in the online I Am Words Creative Writing Course available from the Tamworth Arts & Events website, www.tamworthartsandevents.co.uk, so that anyone who is inspired to try writing for themselves can use the exercises to get them started. e prompts are not only in the form of exercises but also through words gathered at workshops and events held in Tamworth. e words reflect the people of Tamworth’s thoughts on the past, present and future in the summer of 2015. e words were gathered by talking to people as they went about their daily lives, shopping, meeting with friends. ey were also gathered at meetings of groups as they pursued their pastimes, family and local historians, sewers, knitters, boxers, actors, dancers. Words were also gathered from shop windows, from the promotional displays designed to entice us in to buy. I also gathered words from the T-shirts of people as they went about their business in the town. While these exercises are based around the town of Tamworth, they could be used for any town. e pieces that have been included in this book have been submitted by the authors following creative writing workshops within the town. Some reflect childhood and teenage memories of growing up in the town or in one case in Glasgow. Others reflect the town’s history and imagine characters walking the streets of the past and the present. We hope that you enjoy the pieces and are inspired to write your own. If so, download the course book and use it to help you develop your writing skills.

Mal Dewhirst January 2016 6

THE POEM THAT STARTED IT ALL We are Tamworth Poem commissioned for is is Tamworth at Birmingham Symphony Hall – 3rd July 2014 We are Tamworth We are Tamworth We are Tamworth From the Lamb from Stonydelph, Wincote, Belgrave, Amington, Two Gates, Lakeside, Riverside, Coton Green, Gillway, Perrycrofts, e Leys, Leyfields, Glascote and its Heath, Bolehall, Dosthill, Kettlebrook, Bitterscote, Castle and town and all our blessed lands. We are Tamworth. Where Tame meets Anker, bringing Birmingham and Black Country tales to mix with the Anker’s Warwickshire words, all the ripple and flow from here, to the Trent, to the Humber, to the Sea. Rivers spilling full lap through meadowlands; where Offa palaced in the castled grounds of Sandybacks and Plastic Pigs, Aetheflaeda proclaimed build me a bridge, a Lady Bridge, then guard it so that only I might cross. Build me a mound, a castled mound, where I might live and watch for dust. is is Tamworth. Where Saxon and Viking built their border, we gave camp to the knights of Bosworth field, where Roundhead met Cavalier on the Tame bridges and we gave tea to soldiers as they passed on to the Somme, always trying to bring some comfort to conflict. is is Tamworth where Enigma Heroes learned to swim, ski’s ride summers of man-made frosts, Rawlett, preached his legacy of learning, where Guy built a town hall and gave Alms 7

then took them away when he didn’t get the vote and Policeman Peel built his weaving mills, warp and weft, webbing and tape, building his new manifesto. is is Tamworth where the Beatles and the Stones played, in their constant touring, egg and chip days. Tamworth, where the original Teardrop Exploded, and Wolfsbane gave us a massive noise injection. where every year we see the Assembly Rooms host the next Battle of the Bands, which is not when young testosterone filled teenagers thrash guitars and grunt about being misunderstood. It is when, just maybe, our Beatles and Rolling Stones might be heard. Ventura Park and Ankerside, the retail lands of designer brands and coffee shops, supermarkets, house and homes, enclosed by roads that circle and twist and never want to let you leave. Market on Tuesdays and Saturdays, for the purveyors of: fleeces and fruit, cakes and clothes, trainers and towels, books and batteries, rugs and rollers, cheese and chutney. shoes and socks, games and gifts, Town has several co-ops, flower shops, a row of; banks and building societies, travel agents and estate agents, solicitors and accountants, they all group together, power in numbers, creating quarters, where they know each others secrets. All watched over by the Philosophers of Upstairs, Downstairs, Sidewalk Cafe. is is Tamworth Our housing estates that are built on themes; of counties, of plants, cars, poets, space travel and stately homes – and we don’t waste people’s time in naming our roads, don’t see the point of adding road or street or close – makes it so much easier to write an envelope. And have you noticed that many of our famous people were named after the streets. Famous people: Marmion, Ferrers, Robert Peel, omas Guy, John Rawlett, William McGregor, Colin Grazier, Tom Williams back to Ethelflaeda and Offa, and onward to Julian Cope, Blayze Bailey, Phil Bates, Mark Albrighton. Miss Pym and her suffragettes – All worthies who have a staked a claim in Tamworth. 8

Along with the miners of Glascote and Amington, the car workers of Reliant, the spinners and weavers, the potters and warehouse crews. e choirs and bands all hammering the sound of Tamworth. is is created in Tamworth, along with the crafts and cakes, the paintings and sculpted forms that bring all the welcomes into the light of valued art. is is Tamworth Where the Herald reports our community woes and triumphs then reminds of how the town used to look. Tamworth, home where the Tamworth Two were trying to return, and the Lambs raise goals to the songs of the shed choir, Tamworth where the town hall is like an orange, it has Peel on the outside, where the Olympic torch chose to catch its breath, and jousters, ﬁreworks, skateboarders, families all strut their thought in the castle grounds, Tamworth with our French and German twins Sharing culture and song Poetry and peace Bringing markets to share cheese and meat and ﬁnest wine. Tamworth where we race for life, bring help to heroes and support those in need. is Tamworth where our dialect is spoken with a distinction, alright me duck. ese are our words that tell of a proud heritage built on toil and a strength that sees one Tamworth, perfectly placed to create our piece of theatre in the world and remember who we are and where we are from we can shed a tear and raise a smile as we share our town with all those who choose to come, Because we are Tamworth Super Tamworth We are Tamworth from our land.

A ROOM WITH MORE THAN A VIEW My Favourite Room by Alex Simpson. Alex, who now lives near Tamworth, grew up in Glasgow and writes of a memory of his unusual favourite room. Approached down a gloomy passage way, you entered through a half-glazed green door, a shaft of light shone through a narrow glass window showing streaky lime green distempered walls glistening with damp, a pungent odour of disinfectant tickled one’s nostrils. With the door shut, it had the feel of a cell, the furniture was minimal, not a comfortable place to spend time in, yet, it did afford relief and some comfort. e little room was a new experience for us, because it was our first experience of having an indoor lavatory; before, in our tenement in Hutchesontown, (better known as the Gorbals) the flats on each landing shared a lavatory, where when you approached the door in the dimly lit corner, and asked “Is anybody there?” you might bring forth a less than polite answer, and you had to remember to take a supply of bum paper, plus, any previous occupant who’d had a dose of the runs left a lingering reminder….. Our move to our present address, No 357 Pollockshaws Road, Govan Hill, was a big improvement, although it was still a single room at the back of Mr. Levies ‘Pawn Shop’ it did have the advantage of the indoor lavatory; so compared to our single end in Lawmoor St, it was, we thought, posh. ere were six of us in the single room, so as well as using the lavatory for the usual bodily functions, it also served as an escape, maybe not consciously, but I’m sure we dawdled longer than one might have in different circumstances. Emptying one’s bowels was one relief, but there were others. My big sister Nessie and I thought the lid on the pan was surplus to requirements, till we discovered as well as sitting on the pan, we could stand on the lid, a perch we sometimes shared, we’d stare out the narrow window across a railway cut to the back yard of ‘Hubbard’s’ bakery in Victoria Road. In a late evening with the window open, our senses were assailed by a cocktail of sounds, smells, and tastes, some faint, yet distinct; the taste of sulphur from the adjacent iron works, known locally as ‘Dickson’s Blazes’. e smell of manure from the local stables and pig sties, and the most enticing aroma of newly-baked bread came from Hubbard’s bakery just opposite across the cut, then we might hear the whine of a tram car slowing down to stop, followed by the sounds of late night voices from people exiting from the ‘ABC’ cinema

in Victoria Rd, then the sound of trotting high heels as their wearer ran to catch the last tram. e sounds echoed atmospherically across the space, then a ding, ding signalled the tram’s departure. Although we couldn’t see the trains passing down the cut we could see their spooky flickering reflection on the opposite bank that reminded me of a scene from the film ‘Ghost Train’. After dark the only light in the lavatory was a candle in a saucer-like holder, Nessie and I used to take turns in torturing each other by tipping the candle holder over each other’s thighs to enjoy the exquisite fleeting pain of dripping hot wax. e room had good acoustics; Nessie and I would sing the latest hits. ‘Pennies from Heaven’ was blasted into the atmosphere, till dad might come down the hall shouting “Stop that bloody racket”. Nessie would whisper to me, “What impudence” parroting her teacher. At other times we would compete in singing the Tonic Solfa scales, that is Do, Ra, Me, etc to see how far we could get past Middle C, I usually won, till my voice broke. We used to take turns to swing on the chain from the cistern till it broke, being the eldest Nessie got the blame, although I was the one that was swinging on it when it actually broke, and being the shameful child I was, I made no attempt to correct the injustice. For toilet paper we used newspaper, there was always a pile in the corner where Korky our cat sat to keep his bum off the cold floor, and once, we used the pages of an ‘Old Moore’s Almanac’; Nessie would read out some of the lurid predictions, while I gazed at the doomladen pictures; one in particular gave me nightmares, it depicted people falling into a giant crack in the road during an earthquake; the other pages were impaled on a hook for future use, it was softer than the ‘News of the World’, the only intruder might be Korky scratching at the bottom of the door to get in…… Today, when entering public lavatories, where disinfectant permeates the atmosphere, I get the sensation of ‘deja-vu ……………. Yes, the lavatory, was my favourite room. ©Alex C Simpson 2015

CREATING NEW SAYINGS e poem below is a collaborative poem using toponyms created at the Stonydelph Community Café.

The Tamworth Picnic e traﬃc was a right Fazeley fudge, as the Amington band performed bumpy yoga, we went for a Lakeside supper and twisted the Leyﬁelds whisk but my tummy got the Holloway squash and I thought I’d be tasting Ladymeadow ice cream, someone said “you need to bowl the Egg” but I was playing Ankerside tennis, sitting on a Wincote donut, drinking a Ventura Vimto, trying to avoid the Belgrave quiz, jumping a Hopwas hurdle, on another Friday night. © e Stonydelph Community Café

REfLECTIONS Of THE MARkET Market Day in Tamworth As it has done for centuries, the old Norman church presides over the bustling colourful market stalls gathered around the commemorative statue with its three anchors. Who thought of using Marmion's colours for the market stalls? e blue and gold contrasts with the bright colours of the produce, attracting the attention of crowds of shoppers. Fruit and vegetables, plump and glossy, are transferred from boxes to shopping bags in bantering transactions. e aroma of fresh bread invites customers to choose a loaf or perhaps a cake for tea while the rainbow of soft balls on the wool stall suggests a new project and a Tamworth Trotter stands proudly beside a pyramid of ﬂowers. e modern Middle Entry replaced the ancient passageway of the same name but today it is still thronged with people of all ages and sizes. Babies in pushchairs stare wide-eyed at the passing legs, dogs, shopping trolleys, wheelchairs and mobility scooters. Wire trolleys wait for customers outside Farm Foods while the butcher and greengrocer have laid out their goods outside the shops, emulating the market stalls, and a woman cries, 'Big Issue', adding to the cacophony under the glass roof. Emerging into the bright sunshine, Market Street is living up to its name. Rows of dresses, tshirts and other clothing nestle up to the walls of the Town Hall, so familiar to Sir Robert Peel, whose statue gazes down benignly on all the activity. Under the Butter Market beautiful jewellery lurks in the deep shade, some pieces sparkling in a penetrating sunbeam. Market stalls stretch into the distance down George Street and everywhere people are talking, laughing, browsing, buying and selling. e kaleidoscope of metallic colours on the make-up stall contrast with the natural colours of peppers and peaches, artichokes and apples, but they all attract the customers. Hungry shoppers can choose from a wide variety of food, ready-to-eat or take home and cook, local produce or from all over the world, eat while you shop or sit at a pavement cafe, Parisian style. e aromas mingle temptingly and another family stop to study the price list. Pedestrianisation of the town centre gave the market a new lease of life but my bags are getting heavy and I'm glad the car park isn't too far away. I am so glad Tamworth has such a vibrant, cheerful market. It is such a fascinating place to shop. See you there next week. © Julie Paylor 13

In the Market e old Norman church presides over the bustling, colourful market stores, From the top of market street, e place is alive and buzzing with the cry of vendors, “come buy your English strawberries,” A river of ﬂowers and diﬀerent coloured veg wound its way across the square, A rainbow of colours on the wool stall suggests a new project, e ebb tide shoppers gather, He trailed behind her as they entered the market, A tall guy, trainers undone, baseball cap back to front, Boredom written upon his face as he kicked One foot reluctantly in front of the other, She looked tired; eyes glazed and red rimmed, She bit into an éclair and the cream oozed out. She was as fat as a he was stick thin, A round pea to his runner bean. © Maureen Edden, Julie Paylor, Precia Pitt, Patricia Zako, Mal Dewhirst

DRINkING IN WATLING STREET A Stroll Down Watling Street A Centurion guards the Roman Road, whilst supping a pint of beer O'er Quarry Hill he looks, the view is one to cheer. Down the Hill, by Wincutt Hall, it's stood the test of time Stands a brave Red Lion, tasting deep red wine en to the Queen’s Head where there's a ghost. It's name is Dick Turpin, In dark recesses he does hide, drinking Gordon's Gin. Whilst all around has been destroyed, the Globe alone looks sad Ales and lagers, ciders too; here every drink I've had. A lengthy stroll, West I go, but there's no pub, no inn, no bar, How does one manage? I can't go this far, I'm desperate for a jar. e Railway Inn, one of Beeching's cuts, that's why I'm feeling glum Drivers, firemen, porters too, you sure that's coke that's in your rum? At last we get to Two Gates, where we hear the Bull's Head shout. He doesn't want a fight you know, rather chill with a pint of stout. We plough the field and scatter, the good seed on the land But when in the Plough and Harrow, it's a whisky in the hand. Roll out the barrel, or roll up to the ree Tuns I'm dying for a drink or three, so it must be Boddingtons. Leave Fazeley town and onward march, and then you'll find the Longwood A lager here, Carlsberg perhaps, a carling or a bud. And so we reach the end of e Street, last drink at the Mile Oak But all those trees have been chopped down, no drink for this old soak. © Andrew Fox

IMAGINED SCENES Aethelﬂaeda walks through her town and our town.

A Morning in 913 Dressed in rightful royal garb, I aready to church to give my thanks and praise for my beautiful Tamworth, Take a pause before leaving, my leaving, my fortress, to cross the market square to pray. A fresh watery morning breeze meets and exults my nostrils wafting gently upward from the Anker to meet my satisfaction. I descend to greet the smell of hot crispy pig, smoky air, children shouting “ MAKE WAY FOR THE QUEEN”, stalls selling all kinds of daily wares, minstrels playing madrigals, dust from horses hooves, busyness all around, all is wood and smoke and dirt beneath my feet. I am revered as I pass my safe happy subject, the Dane safely to the North of Watling, I proceed, surveying, all that is good, all that is mine, all that should be. © Ruth Huddleston

Aethelﬂaeda Surveys Modern Tamworth Stone walls now crest the mounded fortress behind me. My hand-picked Mercians, stout hearted men, well-skilled in battle, have long gone. Fat geese remain patrolling borders, hidden by countless trees. Unmoved by the constant roaring stream of charging metal carts, townsfolk, strangely garbed, mill undisciplined across the lowlands: intoxicated by exotic wares in the thriving market square. Baskets overﬂow with rich pickings, yet, some driven by hunger, eat on the move. Armies of screaming children cavort on iron horses, shod with wheels. ree small ponies and a barking dog in the market place will not keep marauders at bay. Posing with a blunt-edged sword a solitary soldier forged from succulents and wire, together with a sleeping cat are all that stand between my castle and the Danes. Mirrored in stone, monumental silence swallows all my warnings. Small wonder then local skirmishes are rife: confusion at the borders, errors in the margins. © Margaret Torr 17

COLLAbORATIVE POEM Of THE LIbRARY IN THE OLD CHuRCHYARD Watching Windows of ancient cottages gaze out, across a quiet remembrance of those deceased, ensuring memories for all to read in modern times. Watching changes, not so for those that lie below who nurture trees that they may grow, so shadow spirits float on leaf kites, blackbirds sing, as fir trees sway, pine remembers souls with every falling cone, watching trees grow taller, stronger. Whilst shedding reproducing seeds, blackbird fidgets between regimented stones, watching weeping, wailing mourners. Moss covered gravestones tilted against the drab dark wall, brick, austere black gathers ivy from bones, watching tombs engraved with names of those who left life behind, the slate grey biographies that stretch and idle the borders. Across the old graveyard, modern music disturbs the tranquil afternoon, as men, women and children pass through without a thought.

Collaborative poem inspired by the remembrance garden next to Tamworth Library. At the “I Am Words” workshop on Saturday 18th July 2015. Written by Evelyn Rowe, Andrew Fox and Mal Dewhirst

POEMS TO PROMOTE THE TOWN Tamworth Tamworth is Tamtastic, All around Tamworth is great, My Tamworth is full of beautiful things! Wonderful, Tamtastic, Tamworth is great, Of course you can go to the park and play, Rivers and lakes and even grass snakes! Tamworth is fascinating and full of facts, Have fun all day and play in the park, See our famous landmarks, Such as Tamworth Castle, You will have fun with no hassle!

Charlie Leah Bujak (aged 9)

flying the flag Let's fly the flag for Tamworth and let your voices ring, Proclaiming loud its history, for we'd many a Saxon king. Once capital of Mercia, a royal village blessed, Where Offa built his palace and ruled with might and zest. e Normans came to Tamworth when William won the crown, Lord Marmion built a tower within our ancient town. e fortress was forerunner to the castle on the hill, And powerful families ruled us with iron fist and iron will. Now we were safe from raiding hordes, for that we must be glad, And common folk got on with life accepting good and bad. From soggy marsh and woodland our town began to grow, With Castle, Church, and Old Stone Cross, and houses row on row. ere's Gumpigate and Ladybridge, Colehill and Bollebruggestette, And Bullstock near the market place where townsfolk often met. Mills and mines, and farms and shops, all keep us well employed, And many inns and several fairs are there to be enjoyed. e town has known such tragedies as plague and fire and flood, And the Civil War resulted in the shedding of much blood. In times of war our men were brave, dropped tools and took up arms, And following orders blindly left their women to tend the farms. Tamworth had some well-known sons, MacGregor, Barnes and Guy. ey were great men of vision on whom we could rely. Sir Robert Peel was special; Prime Minister to the nation; His famous Manifesto was hailed with great elation. e flux of life moved slowly in this pleasant market town, With Georgian and Tudor dwellings, 'till the planners knocked them down' 'We cannot live on memories. We must move on,' they said. 'We need modern shops and houses. We've got to keep ahead.'

Now fifty years have passed us by; those shops are closing down. Let's raise the flag, the Tammies said, renew life in our town. A wind of change is blowing; our community is growing; New ideas are flowing ... test the water. .. let's get sowing. Set up clubs and interest groups and perhaps a 'knit and natter' Where young and old can meet up; get to know each other better Fly the flag for Tamworth, raise your voices - let's be heard In borough council offices through TAMWORTH I AM WORD. © Maureen Edden

MEMORIES Tamworth’s Open Air baths Many will be sharing my own fond memories of the state-of-the-art open-air swimming pool, which graced Tamworth from the late 1930s until its sad demise around the late 1960s, early 1970s. I was taken to this swimming pool from a very early age, probably around 1938/9. I have photographs of me with my brother, Cecil Smith, sitting in one of the small foot baths that were around the main pool area. Each year Tamworth open-air swimming baths opened on the first Saturday in May until September time. ere was a balcony on either side of the main pool providing viewing or sunbathing; a large paved area to the far end for sunbathing or picnics. Here was a tiered fountain where water cascaded down as children sat beneath it. Dividing the main pool from the shallow end was a concrete barrier with underwater arches allowing the more experienced swimmer to swim through. e shallow end had curved steps the width of the pool so that toddlers with mums could paddle without getting too deeply into the water if they were nervous. For the more adventurous youngsters there was a small slide. In the deep end there were three diving boards of varying heights and a large chute, which was great fun. Sometimes, the boys would jump off the diving boards, arms hugging bent up knees, and land in the water with great force splashing everyone around, even those sitting at the side on benches. Mr Dale who was in charge, probably a lifeguard, would tell them off for doing that. I was taught to swim by an uncle who never even got in the pool with me, but instructed me from the side. By the time I was about 8 years old I could swim well and came second in the Moorgate Primary School’s swimming gala. I won a blue pencil case. School summer holidays were spent at the baths morning and afternoon. e pool closed at lunchtime and there would be queues stretching from the entrance down towards the white bridge awaiting opening time. As a regular, I purchased season tickets as these worked out cheaper than paying per visit. In those days I could swim a mile which was 52 lengths of the pool. My mum would come with me early on a Saturday morning and help keep count. My Cairn terrier dog, Sandy, would come along too and sit with Mum. ere were occasions when Sandy would 22

somehow get away from Mum and join me in the pool. Either no one noticed, or didn’t mind. At this early hour the pool was sparsely occupied anyway. I well remember one occasion when I had my friend and workmate, Eileen, from Birmingham, to stay for the weekend so that we could go to the dance at the Assembly Rooms. We had pre-planned a midnight swim after the dance and stuﬀed swimsuits into handbags, telling no one! Finding a spot in the fence we could climb over we got changed and had our swim. Eileen told me not to dive in as it would make a noise. I boasted my dives didn’t make a splash. I was wrong. Some boys who had had the same idea joined us. e water was probably colder then than I would get into now, but we were having fun and didn’t care. On cooler days, this mostly unheated pool would drive us shivering into the café where we would try to get warmed through with a drink of hot OXO. Tamworth’s open-air swimming pool drew crowds from distant towns and villages. It was always busy although only in use for a few months each year. Many would wish it could be boarded over in winter months and used for a roller skating rink, but that didn’t happen. Sadly, this much-loved pool eventually had to close down; water now leaked away, revealing cracks, the cause of its problems, and nature stepped in, allowing seeds blown in from the surrounding gardens to germinate and take over. Only the ghostly echoes of the past remain clinging to memories lest they be lost for ever. Listen for a moment and you will hear the children shouting and laughing as they splashed and swam around; cries of mock annoyance as the big boys ‘bombed’ swimmers who got in their way; boys and girls making dates to meet up for an evening at the local cinemas or at the Assembly Room Saturday night dances; cheering crowds encouraging favoured entrants in a school swimming gala; applauding the winners of cups and medals. Now hushed, but for the eerie rustle of autumn leaves blowing across that dry and empty pool, once the summer home to happy crowds on hot sunny days so long ago. © Evelyn Rowe

Tamworth long gone Where are they now those friends and foe? Whose footsteps shook the ground we know. Rich men, clever men, trembling poor, e orphaned child at workhouse door. Do they watch from shores afar? As workmen with their strength and bar Lay slabs that marked their last remains Against a wall with cracks and stains. Tall trees sigh at whispered prayers, Muted hymns and spiral stairs. Does Editha watch? as Bridal veil Blows gently, next to mourners pale. Did tremors run from wall to wall, When ancient ghosts saw Church Street fall? Replaced with paving broad and square For market stalls and modern fare. ‘Bobby’ Peel stands tall and clean Where manifesto can be seen. Does he hear the traﬃc’s boom? As tourists ﬂock to his old home. Vaulted chambers echoed clear With cries of wares and smells of beer, Of cheese, and eggs and gaggles of geese, Are they heard now by other ears? e castle stands with curtain wall Do our young know of Henry‘s call? When on his way to Bosworth Field He stayed and prayed for Richard‘s yield. Marmion, Ferrers, Robert Peel, Guy, MacGregor and a Queen. Planners, Clerks and Councillors too Some preferred old and others new.

All witnessed this, our chang-ed town Most helped but others let us down. Treasures lost or vandalised We are the ones they penalised. New buildings blight our landscaped view, at artists loved and peasants knew. Now snowy slopes and watery ﬂumes Replace the revellers happy tunes. We are the keepers for innocent youth. All things change that is the truth. Enjoy it now while you can Nothing lasts forever. Soon it may be gone. © Phyllis Higginson

kettlebrook Road – A Profusion of Little businesses In the late ﬁfties and early sixties, before supermarkets and the Bolebridge Egg, Kettlebrook Road was home to a number of small businesses. e buildings on the bottom part of the road were all removed by the time the Egg was under construction to widen the entry to the up/down ramp of the Egg from the Glascote arch. Originally, a single large house stood, roughly where the ramp is now, on the side of the road closest to the town, and this housed Bennetts Ladies Hairdressing Salon. ere was a driveway next to it leading to a large garage and other out-buildings which is where Bennetts Taxi Firm started. On the other side of the drive were a couple of small shops. e ﬁrst was Lathburys, the cobblers and shoe shop. Bernard Lathbury did not stock an extensive range of shoes, but his main business was repairing the soles and re-stitching uppers of well-worn but serviceable shoes. In those days shoes were often repaired several times before being cast aside.

Sometimes new leather soles were nailed and stitched onto the uppers, other times rubber soles would be glued and pressed on. Work shoes which were subject to a lot of wear could be fitted with steel tips, which wore slower than the rest and sometimes these would be all that were replaced. Some days the shop would have been a glue-sniffer’s heaven, long before glue sniffing was thought of. With the advent of the Egg, Bernard Lathbury moved his shop into Glascote, next to where the Manna House Coffee Shop is now, before finally closing when he retired. Still by the entrance to Kettlebrook Road, next to Lathburys was “Bottom Bowmans”, a small General Store, which sold loose sweets from large glass jars, a variety of packet, can and bottled food items, vegetables when in season, including potatoes and also paraffin from a large tank in the back, filling your own gallon can that you brought with you. At different times the brand was Esso Blue or Pink Paraffin, why they changed I don’t know. e shop would be about 15 to 20 foot square. e reason it was Bottom Bowmans was that at the corner of Glascote Road and Summerville Avenue (opposite Sammy ompsons Garage, where the upholstery shop is now) was Top Bowmans, owned by the same family with similar lines. I remember as a lad taking some of my pocket money down to Bottom Bowmans to get some sweets, thrupenny –worth of Bonbons. When the shop keeper had finished serving three pounds of loose potatoes to the lady in front of me, he turned to me to enquire what I wanted. I duly gave my request and so he lifted the stainless steel pan off the scale and holding it sideways gave it a sharp knock against the side of the counter to (hopefully) shift any bits of loose flakes of new potato skin and earth that may still have been clinging to the pan. He would replace it on the scale, turn round and get down the large clear glass jar of bonbons and unscrew the lid. Using the same hand that had earlier lifted the potatoes out of the sack for the previous lady, he would reach into the jar and grab a handful of flour coated, unwrapped bonbons and transfer them to the scale, picking out any that were more than the required weight and returning them to the jar. e lid would be screwed back on and the jar returned to the shelf. He would then reach down to the back of the counter where there was a nail with a loop of string, which was threaded through the corner of a number of brown paper bags of different sizes. Selecting one of the smaller ones he would blow into the bag to open it, sometimes having to use licked fingers if it was difficult, before pouring the bonbons into the paper bag. He would then grasp each side of the bag near the opening, one in each hand and flick the bag over the top a couple of times to twist the ends and effectively close it. All that was left was for me to hand over my twelve sided, bronze coloured, three penny bit. Beside Bowmans was a gateway and entrance to the paddock behind, where Bennett’s daughter sometimes kept a couple of horses. Next to the gateway was a row of about six to eight terraced houses, with the front doors opening right onto the pavement with alleys to allow access to the rear of the properties. On the corner of the little lane, effectively where the entrance to the football ground carpark is, were two different hairdresser shops – Bob Botts mens barber shop and a ladies 26

hairdressing salon. On the other corner of the lane was the Lamb Inn. Apart from the few houses off this lane, some are still there today, there was the factory for Bradleys Menswear shop, which was situated in George Street in the town not far from the travel agents shop by the Ankerside entrance closest to Colehill. Whitcombe, who ran a small coach firm with two or three buses, had a piggery and sty further up the lane, and he lived in Honeysuckle Cottage, opposite Meadow Street, slightly further up Kettlebrook Road. On the same side roughly near number 37 was one of several small general stores, located in someone’s front room, stocking bread and cans, jars and packet goods. Further up on the other side of the road in the first bungalow set back from the pavement was Fieldings, the newsagent, stationery and sweet shop. Beyond the big house after Fieldings, was another set back bungalow which was a greengrocers and flower shop. e first house past the Working Mens Club, number 124, was also another front room grocer, and just a few doors up was the Sub-Post Office. Next to that a betting shop and then a cinder drive leading to Cross Street. On the other corner was a much larger general store, with a floor space of typically two rooms knocked into one, which had the general feel of Arkwrights Open All Hours, but without the scheming money-grabbing patron or cash register. Down the cinder drive and on the far corner was the off-licence and general stores, which was still there the last time I went down Cross Street. Back on Kettlebrook Road just beyond the top of the hill was a chip shop. So many small businesses, which for a variety of reasons (supermarkets and town expansion) have ceased to be, inhabited a busy highway where there were no parked cars. is was the main thoroughfare to Two Gates, Dosthill, Kingsbury and Birmingham and was constantly used by both single and double decker Midland Red buses, along with all the other vehicles, which is a completely different picture to what we see today. © John B. Smith

A CHARACTER STuDY “ferret” I never found out whether Ferret was so called because of his appearance, his manner or some other long forgotten reason. He was on the small side and thin with a certain nervous energy that seems to naturally go with that type of build. He had blue eyes and short cropped hair that generally stuck up at the back; his features were narrow, his face with sunken cheeks and long pointed nose and chin certainly gave him rodent-like features and he habitually searched his pockets as if looking for something, ferreting about, if you like. Yes, he was well named. At first I didn’t take to him at all; in fact, I’m ashamed to admit that I looked down on him. He hadn’t given me any particular reason for me to feel like this. His small stature and slight build was no physical threat and he didn’t seem very bright intellectually. at in itself shouldn’t have worried me, since one or two of the men at work probably fell into this category as did a fair number of the men at Foxes Covert and I had no problem with any of them; but somehow I felt superior to Ferret and that bothered me. I wasn’t comfortable with that idea, especially since we were all here because of varying degrees of misdemeanours! I tried to be friendly towards him, but it didn’t help. Finally, I came to the conclusion that “our chemistry didn’t mix” and I would have to accept that I simply did not like the man; and oddly, once I had reached that conclusion, I found I could tolerate him and he no longer bothered me. As I got to know him, I learnt he was in prison as a result of threatening a policeman with a knife. He’d been lucky to only get two years; it could easily have been four. He talked a lot about his girlfriend, Debbie, she was a regular visitor from Daventry together with his mother. I have to admit I was a little envious of this aspect of his life, as I hadn’t heard a word from Beth. Debbie seemed determined to stand by him and I’ll say this for him, he seemed to regret his crime and was looking forward to being released on licence. It was clear how much he appreciated what Debbie was doing for him and he was determined not to let her down again, but make a future for the two of them. He even talked about starting his own catering company, although where he would get the financial backing and the ability to run a business wasn’t clear. Maybe Debbie would be the brains behind the enterprise. Ferret had discovered from all the trades he’d been encouraged to try when he came to Foxes Covert, that he had a considerable aptitude for cooking and was keen to devise new recipes that he could try out at home. e scope for innovation in the kitchens was limited by the ingredients provided daily and the necessity of providing meals on a strict budget for three hundred men that were acceptable to everyone. He avidly watched programmes like Master Chef in his quest to collect ideas he could use in his business and was studying for a City and Guilds qualification. © Janis Kind

SOME THOuGHTS AND IDEAS fROM SOCIAL MEDIA During the project we asked people for their thoughts and memories using Twitter and Facebook, here are some of the responses below.

Hamels Hamels who used to make cotton tape. Situated at the bottom of Bolebridge Street opposite a bicycle shop which used to ﬂood in heavy rain.

Arts Centre After the Baptists moved out of the town it became the Arts Centre. Located at the bottom of Lower Gungate (top of Colehill) opposite the large pub that used to be the post oﬃce near to the Old Stone Cross. I remember it well as the Boys Brigade and the Salvation Army used to meet there. It is now the registry oﬃce, but I remember it as the Arts Centre. I loved rehearsing there with Tamworth Arts Club.

William Macgregor Did he have something to do with starting the Tamworth Co-op? Whilst not speciﬁcally Tamworth related but... while custodian of Aston Villa FC, he helped develop the Football Association Football league... he was a great philanthropist who built schools, he lived at Bolehall Manor

Amington Worst road in Tamworth, it's like a rollercoaster ride but in your car.

Cafes Strawberry milkshakes at the bus station cafe slurping the last bit at the bottom of the glass Tom's cafe,, where we used metal coat hangers to ﬁddle the pin ball!!!! Listening to Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes. Happy days... e Monica Cafe, where lots of couples ﬁrst met.

bolehall Swifts Beat Tamworth 1-0 back in 1994 - Bolehall v Tamworth FA Cup match was the night with Mark Hughes and the opening of the ﬂoodlights.

Pubs Well, there was the incident at the Old Stone Cross, where Mick 'went' up the bar rather than walking to the toilet!

Perrycrofts I went to Queen Elizabeth’s Grammar School in the late 50's early 60's and in our art lesson one day we had to go out and draw a picture of the fountain. I know time moves on but was upset to see the landmark go. e house shown there is called the Fountain House. It was for sale circa 1994 and me and Kim Baxter went to view it. Wanted too much work doing to it though.

Wilnecote Wilnecote Parish Hall - still in use after all these years! Despite the big changes around that area now !

School Days Whilst I loved every minute others couldn’t wait to leave

kettlebrook I live in Barnbridge Kettlebrook . I believe our estate was built on land that used to be farms and then a mill. My children have witnessed several ghostly apparitions I remember delivering papers to Field Farm, between Kettlebrook & Belgrave, when it was a working farm. Also delivering papers to the farm at Dosthill where the Blackwoods estate is now.

SOME TASTER CREATIVE WRITING ExERCISES e creative writing exercises are tasters to the full writing course that is available in the I AM WORDS, Creative Writing Course which is available as a PDF download from www.tamworthartsandevents.co.uk

Exercise 1 Place – Walking down the street Describe walking down a street in Tamworth, use all your senses. Bring in the objects (street furniture etc.), their shapes and colours along with the movement of people and traﬃc. Try and keep the prose piece to around 500 words or write a poem. With this exercise take about 15-20 minutes.

Exercise 2 Character – Write another character description Using the contents of the bag below, write a character description of the owner of the bag. Use your imagination to ﬁll in the information that you don’t have, such as the starting point of the train journey. Try and keep the prose piece to around 500 for the character description. THE BAG is can be a handbag or backpack, it holds the following objects: - A used, return train ticket to Liverpool. - A purse/wallet that contains two unused 2nd class stamps, a used 80 pfennig blue stamp marked Deutsche Post franked 24th December 1947 in Leipzig. A business card for the Blue Lagoon Chinese restaurant in Penrith, Cumbria. - A silk handkerchief with the monogram OHR. - Cigarette lighter advertising e Cubric Club. - Picture of a young man on a motorbike. - A matchbox with an insect inside. - A toy car. - A small gun.

Exercise 3 Story – The Incident Using your street and character descriptions you created in the ﬁrst two exercises, write a story about an incident with occurred with the character (and others that you can introduce) whilst they were in the street. With this exercise write between 1,000 and 1,500 words.

ACkNOWLEDGEMENTS anks go to the contributors who provided the pieces for inclusion within this anthology. anks also go to the following organisations: Tamworth Borough Council – Arts and Events team. Elanor Hazlehurst, Laura Hastilow, Hannah McKenzie Tamworth Borough Council – Graphics Team – Anna Toone Tamworth and Wilnecote Libraries – Ian Burley Tamworth CIC – Community Cafés in Stonydelph and Belgrave – Lee Bates Ankerside Shopping Centre Bird’s Bush Primary School St Gabriel’s Catholic Primary School Two Gates Primary School

About Mal Dewhirst Mal Dewhirst was the First Staffordshire Poet Laureate in 2012 when he completed several poetry commissions promoting the county. He is also a writer and film maker who lives in Tamworth. His work has been featured in magazines, books and on film. His plays have been performed on stages around the country and his films have featured at international film festivals.

WORkSHOPPING WORDS

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