Learning about life.

Farmer Herbert was well known to the kids of Burnholme and Tang Hall in the 30s and 40s. The period when Whernside and Pennigent Avenues were being built, Fifth Avenue ended at the last four council houses over Tang Hall Lane and his fields were on the other side of the hedge which crossed over the road there. Just through the hole in the hedge, created for their convenience by the Fifth Avenue kids as an easy passage to the wide expanse of freedom on the other side, were two oak trees with ropes hanging from the top branches and stout sticks knotted through at the bottom to sit on. John managed to fall off at its highest point and was taken on one of his many trips to the hospital. The fields ran through to the Derwent Valley Railway in one direction and Bad Bargain Lane and beyond in the other.

Farmer Herbert’s large frame astride a big bike and his collie dog running alongside were regularly seen keeping an eye on his farm lands. The other person, on similar transport, to keep an eye open for was the estate policeman who lived in Rockingham Avenue. Sylvia and her best friend Barbara Leadhill were on more friendly terms with farmer Herbert, but would not be the regular subjects of attention with the bobby that we were. They went to Appletree Farm on Bad Bargain Lane regularly and were able to watch him and his son David milking and preparing milk in the dairy for his round on Burnholme and Heworth. Her mam Gertie had his milk. They could go any time they wanted and, when the apples were ready, were allowed to take as many as they could for home. One time, they had a ‘croggy’ (ride on a crossbar) with a couple of local lads back home.

David Herbert lived in the small cottage with his family. The large house on the farm was home to land girls during the war and Mr Herbert lived in a big house on Stockton Lane. I think it is called Herbert Way where the house was. His land stretched that far.

No Appletree Village then, Meadlands, Burnholme School or Ashley estate off Stockton Lane, and Ryedale Avenue was the last road opening onto Bad Bargain Lane. Burnholme Avenue went no further than halfway down. Beyond, there had been a speedway track and then it was all farm land. There was a stile and public pathway through to Osbaldwick down Metcalfes’ Lane where Meadlands is now and we knew every inch of it. Once through the hole in the hedge at the end of our avenue, if the field was clear, it was our personal world to play in and find nature and adventure. As long as we kept to paths and didn’t damage anything important we enjoyed the sort of freedom that, sadly, is not possible for children now.

We made little camps inside the wide hedges, that we could crawl into through a small opening and hide from people we did not want to see. The bigger lads had smoking sessions in them. Those whose dads smoked cigs could sometimes manage to get one that wouldn’t be missed. Their dog ends could also be remade with cig papers from the dads who rolled their own. Once, in our research mode, dry hoss muck in brown paper was tried but that didn’t catch on. We knew where all the mushrooms and hedge fruits were as well as the hazel pears and eating apples which were more difficult to get our hands on.

Between the two trains a day on the Derwent Valley Railway, we wandered along the tracks and knew where to find frogs, spawn, newts and lizards. The railway line also formed ‘no mans’ land’ between the Fifth avenue and Constantine lads who didn’t always get on too well together. Sometimes we would make camps at each side of the track and, armed with dustbin lids, throw stones at each other. I still have marks to show. The contests were sometimes continued if we were over their side of the bridge at the shops.

As we grew up, we extended our areas of activity and as long as we were back for meals nobody worried. We went right through to Osbaldwick, past the electricity power station, which had an armed police guard then, and on to Murton beyond the realm of farmer Herbert. It was not unusual for us to arrive back home with our jerseys full of mushrooms. Once we knew which fields they were in we got up before anyone else at 4 o’clock in the mornings to get them, and sold them down the street, giving the money to our mothers. Sylvia and the kids on Burnholme and Heworth were much nearer the fields on each side of the bridge in Burnholme Drive, alongside the beck. They did the same things we did but also had the beck to swing over and walk on when frozen. They had to get their socks dry before going home, like we did after being in Tang Hall Park.

What a great pity it is not possible for children to have the same freedom today. They need plenty of free leisure and creative facilities in their communities to satisfy their eagerness to learn about life in their own way, and make up for what we had.

I met Sylvia at the free slide shows in Heworth Church Hall put on by Mr Oglesby and, a few years later, courted on Farmer Herbert’s land before marrying in Heworth Church in 1950. Now in our eighties, these shared memories are very precious.