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These interviews took place in 1997 and are extracts from my earlier work on the history of roller skating in Derby.

Those familiar with the world of roller skating would likely agree that the best remembered of Derby’s rinks was built by George Hicklin and his business partner, John Richard Clarke.

Built on land behind Nos 22 and 24 Ashbourne Road and backing on to Markeaton Street, it still survives today but is now a cycle warehouse and a workshop.

Its opening in 1929 was nothing like the grand affairs of its predecessors but went on to enjoy much more lasting success and popularity. It had a main skating area approximately 90 yards by 35 yards and another area slopping down towards the main rink and known affectionately as ‘Mugs’ Alley’. It was there that skates were collected and fixed to boots or shoes and where learners gained confidence before venturing on to the main rink.

“We went first to live at 24 Ashbourne Road and saw the rink being built,” recalls Mrs Clarke (no relation to John Richard) of Camden Street. Even before the floor was fully laid I learnt to skate there. The best-designed skating floor in the country they said at the time. Made from maple especially brought over from Canada, I was told.

“My brother, Billy Mills, as everybody knew him by worked there, he looked after the skates and was second in charge to Mr Clarke, one of the partners. I used to run the buffet and this was in what everybody called Mugs’ Alley and where the learners practiced on their skates.

“After the rink had been opened a while we moved into 22 Ashbourne Road and number 24 was then turned into a fish and chip shop. Always a busy place, the rink opened seven nights a week, although music was never allowed on Sundays, but that’s how it was in those days, Sunday was Sunday then. On quieter nights, say Mondays, it would be opened for wrestling, and boxing as well, as I remember it at one time.

“Mr Hicklin, the other partner, also owned a picture house in Mill Street called the Popular Cinema. That would have been built just before the rink, and me and my husband always went there and it cost us nothing with it belonging to Mr Hicklin and us both working at the rink, we could get in free any time we wanted.

Derby Flyers with Bobby Hulme

“The rink was always a marvellous place for West Enders and there must be many of the old one alive who remember it still. It could be a really happy place to be and how we then young ones loved it. For music there was nothing posh, they had like a gramophone and loudspeakers.

"Some nights would be special, what they used to call carnival. But it was the roller dancing I remember most. I could do all the dances, the barn dance, the two-step, fourteen step and of course, the waltz. And the tunes we danced to how they stick in your mind: Love walked in; Stay in my Arms, Cinderella; Little Sir Echo; My Cabin in the pine and Romany are just a few that bring it all back. They would not mean anything to the youngsters today, of course, but to us it was all romantic and exciting. And on one extra-special night, as I hoped I would, I met my future husband there.”

Roller hockey, sometimes known as rink hockey, had a large following in the thirties and many first-class teams had their beginnings at the Ashbourne Road rink. Perhaps the most famous of these, Derby All-Blacks, captained by Bobby Hulme was among the top rank in the country. Hulme was to become an international player and captained the England side for many seasons.

“I was born in the heart of the West End,” recalls Mr Sam Johnson from Alvaston. “I went to St Anne’s school and I was in the church choir. Dicky Timms was the organist and he was also the headmaster of the boys’ school. You talk to any old West Ender and all of them would have heard of Dicky. He was a real tough nut was Dicky Like any of the lads who went to that school, I’ve had many a clout off him.

“As for skating at Ashbourne Road rink, well, like other youngsters from that area, I would spend as much time as I could up there. When we’d got the money that is. Pennies did not come so easily in those days. I would say I started going to the rink at the beginning of the thirties soon after it opened, and kept going right up to going in the army at the start of the war.

“At first for roller hockey they just used to pick scratch teams for a game. Then when Bobby Hulme came as floor manager we began to take it more seriously. Alf James started a very good team called Derby All-Blacks, in fact one of the best north of London. I was never good enough to get in that. Then Bobby Hulme started another team and I was one of them along with Jack Ward, Frank Inger played goal and Billy Mills was full back and we called ourselves the New Derbians.’

“Not only was Bob Hulme a top hockey player he was also the tops when it came to dancing on skates. I could just about manage some of the dancing but it was the hockey that counted for me. I suppose the end of serious hockey playing at the Derby rink was when Bobby Hulme started playing at Bellevue, Manchester. At any rate, Jack and me stopped when the war came you see, and that was the end of everything as far as I was concerned.

“I wonder if they still play roller hockey today. They do have a roller rink, I know that, called Roller World or something. I don’t suppose there is any comparison with that and Ashbourne Road as it was in the old days. Ashbourne Road was the perfect size for roller hockey. I do believe the rink opened again after the war, but I never went back. I was married by then.

"We didn’t actually meet at the rink; we met in the Neptune pub of all places. She was with a friend and I was with Jack Ward. It was Jack who said ‘we’ll be all right there…’ and that’s how it started. We were happily married all those years until I lost her just three years ago.”

Mr Eddie Chambers, of Radbourne Street, remembers John Richard Clarke as “…a bloke you had to be careful with. Could be as nice as pie at times but upset him and he’d bar you from the rink as soon as look at you, but I seemed to get on with him all right.

"He’d sometimes walk on to the main rink and standing there in the middle he’d be on the look out for any bad behaviour, either there or in Mugs’ Alley and he’d have no hanky-panky. I can never remember any rough stuff up there, no rowdiness and we’d never heard of drugs. You could walk out of there of a night and nothing would happen to you.

“And don’t forget, after the war started we had no street lights, even so, the girls could walk home alone and be perfectly safe.

"It was more than just a skating rink to us. It became a sort of meeting place, a social centre if you like, something quite different to anything we had ever known before. A great night out for sixpence, not only for West Enders but for all the young and not so young of those times.

"I’ll tell you something else, some nights at the rink, about once a month, the rink would open just for ballroom dancing. For that they had to put chalk down to make the floor good for dancing on, slippery you know. It might have done for the dancing but it was no good for the skating, and on the following day Mr Clarke would come and ask the hockey team to keep going round the rink to cut the shininess of the surface, and then we’d have to put resin down to help the roller wheels get a grip.

“Another reason for why I liked Mr Clarke, he’d let us have the rink in the afternoons for training the hockey teams. I played for Derby Olympia. Anyway, in return he would sometimes ask us if we’d help newcomers and show them how to use roller skates. Well, naturally, you always made for the young ladies and one in particular I went for, well, in the end I married her and we were together for 65 years.

“And you know, if you had the pennies it cost, you could take your girl into the fish and chip shop which Mr Clarke owned as well and which you could get into from the rink yard. There were one or two tables in there to sit at for a bit of supper. Not all that romantic I suppose to what they expect today, but to the lads and lasses of those times it was a real thrill to treat your girl in that way.

“Those who can remember the times I am talking about – now old like me – must look back with the same glad and sad feelings as I have now.”

Mr David Turner, now living in Quarndon, has never forgotten the realities of life in the West End of Derby. “I am now talking about the twenties and thirties when times were really bad. I was brought up in one of the backcourts off Bridge Street and if you’ve never seen one of those courts then I’m going to have a hard time to describe what it was like. But still, let that remain. Somehow, because of their goodness to each other the people from round there survived and, in the end, better times did come for some of us.

"When it opened, Ashbourne Road rink was a godsend to us kids. With my pal, Albert, it was a matter of us going whenever we could earn the sixpence to get in, or if we couldn’t make that we’d scrape together the threepence it cost to get in and watch. I suppose you could say it became our life in a way, and you know, when you got to the age of wanting to meet girls there was no better place to be.

“Most holiday times, say Easter and Christmas and on St Valentine’s night there would be what they called carnival nights. That’s when lots of the girls and boys put on homemade fancy dress. The rink got even more crowded those nights and I remember it would keep open until eleven o’ clock. We’d be given paper hats and there would be little black eye masks and streamers everywhere, some of these finding their way down the backs of girls. Balloons bouncing and ending in squashed bangs, and besides the music from the speakers there would be plenty of noise and mock screaming from the girls. With mistletoe at Christmas or the excuse of Valentine’s night there would be plenty of kissing going off in those pre-war days of innocence – and long before the word teenager had been invented.”

Carnival night c 1938

During the winter months a floor was laid over the swimming bath in Reginald Street and was used for roller-skating, but as a rink it had its limitations, as Mr Alf James of Pear Tree Crescent remembers: “When I was sixteen or seventeen I used to go there a lot. Then we heard of this new rink opening on Ashbourne Road and we thought it would be just another poky little place but we couldn’t believe our eyes when we saw it.

“It was at least four times the size of Reginald Street with a clear skate round with no hindrances from pillars or steps. Really was great. The only thing was it had no front to it and you would hardly know the rink existed; all it had was just an entrance passage to the pay box. No sign over it or anything to let you know and you could walk right by it. There was a chapel right next door to this entrance and perhaps that was the reason they couldn’t alter it and have a posh front.

“I was always keen on roller hockey so after I had been going a while to Ashbourne Road rink, I started a team there with Billy Mills who was the rink manager, then with Jack Ward, myself and Billy Swan we called ourselves Derby All-Blacks, and we would play all over the country, even as far as Newcastle. We’d have matches in Derby, of course, but Mr Clarke would only allow us half an hour for a game in between the skating sessions. That meant just ten minutes each way because the rest of the time would be taken up in getting the floor ready and safety nets in place.

"The best thing I ever thought happened to the rink was the day Mr Clarke said to me, ‘Alf,’ he said, ‘ there’s a new floor manager coming and he’s not a bad skater by all accounts.’ Well, his name was Bob Hulme. One night Billy Swan couldn’t make the team and Bob Hulme took his place. Well, you’ve never seen wizardry like it. I’d never before seen a man handle a hockey stick like Bob Hulme did. It was like the ball was attached to the end of his stick. Marvellous to see it and it was never any wonder to me after that day that Bob would end up in the England team.”

Mr David Turner then remembers the diary he kept. “I was 17 in 1939 and most days I would write something down. There were no biros in those days and only posh people had fountain pens so the diary is written in pencil and now fading away.

"What with that and the pages turning brown with age, it’s not easy to read. Still, I copied a lot of it out and now what I do like is to read what I wrote on the night before war was declared. It’s a long time ago now to rely on memory but it must have happened the way I wrote it, and this is how it was.

Derby All-Blacks 1932 champions

"At the rink with the lads tonight. Lily was there and as soon as she noticed us come in, she came over to me. I could guess she was going to go on about me not turning up last night and I was ready with the story I had worked out when all of a sudden the lights went out and there was a terrific bang. There was a kind of frightened sigh went up and because it had been on our minds for so long, it was as if the war had begun. The music had stopped and there was some squealing and shouts. It seemed everybody stood where they were and then the beam from a torch picked out some worried faces. To make himself heard Bill the manager had to shout to tell us there had been a power failure and to make our way out of the rink. Lights from candles began to glow, and as more thunder rolled I helped Lily off with her skates.

"In the dark street we sheltered from the downpour in the doorway of the chapel next to the rink. I felt her gripping my hand as we watched in frightened silence the barrage balloons over the town being struck by lightning. They turned to balls of fire in the sky and you could have thought we were watching the beginnings of hell.

"When the rain eased we walked away through unlit streets with flashes of lightning bringing little ‘oohs’ from Lily as she tried to hide her face in my jacket and what it brought to my mind was the world coming to an end. I got that cold feeling come down my back when you know that something is never going to be the same again.

"When we got to the stone pillar at the entrance to the greyhound stadium where we always said our Goodnights, she hung on to me and she said ‘Dave, I’m ever so frightened, the war is coming, isn’t it? What’s going to happen to us?” I could only kiss her in reply and she seemed a lot calmer when it was time for me to leave her."

War came on a warm Sunday morning in September 1939. At the time, Walter Moore was living in Leaper Street in the West End and he remembers that morning being glorious like many others of that long summer. “It was full of sunshine when Mam called me about nine, and downstairs she had a cup of tea poured while she finished poking into the frying pan on our old gas stove. It’s funny how you remember the little things like the mournful Sunday music coming from the wireless and Mam telling me there was going to be special news on the wireless after eleven o’ clock that morning.

“My pal then was Ken Ward who lived at the top of our street and it was about that time that I was waiting for him at the back door of their house. Their wireless was on and I heard this calm voice telling everybody to stand by for a special announcement by the Prime Minister.

“I stood alone outside that door while Mr Chamberlain’s voice broke into the lovely sunny morning with words I’m sure nobody is ever going to forget ‘…and consequently this country is at war with Germany…’

“The sun remained warm and bright as I turned away with a feeling hard to say what it was, a sort of dreadful elation I suppose. I remember it as though it was only last week, how empty the street was of people, not even kids. Some dogs were lying in the sun and a cat stretched itself in the window of a house. Our Wynn was in the house with Mam but dad had gone up the yard. Mam was crying into a piece of handkerchief and Wynn tried a brave smile at me as I said to Mam ‘We’ll win all right.’ But it did not seem to console her. ‘You don’t know what it’s like,’ she said, turning her back on me. ‘The last war was bad enough, but now God help us.’”

With the outbreak of war the Ashbourne Road rink was forced to close. This same draconian order applied to cinemas, dance halls, sports meetings, greyhound and horse racing and all other places of entertainment where numbers of peoples were likely to gather.

But getting over their early panic, the government of the day came to see the folly of this and the bad effect it was having on public morale. A fortnight later and the order was rescinded and the rink’s reopening was joyfully recorded in Mr Turner’s diary: Albert called this dinner time with the great news of the rink opening tonight for just one hour and admission to be free. From next week it will open as usual, the only difference being it has to close half an hour earlier by half past nine. Certainly looking forward to tonight.

As the war progressed the rink kept open even through the air raids, and as Mr Eric Richards, of Etwall Street, remembers: “There was a strict blackout of course, so black some nights it was tricky even finding your way across the rink yard to the fish and chip shop.

"We were in a blitz area of course and many a time Billy Mills would have to announce over the speakers that an air raid alert was on it being advisable for everybody to leave and make for the nearest shelter, yet the nearest was at the bottom of the Old Road. But as time went on, we got used to these warnings because it didn’t always mean we were going to be bombed and you sort of got a sixth sense as regards danger and most times they would keep the rink open for those who wanted to stay.

“I had a friend, Freddie Pountain, a cousin of Denis Pountain, Denny Denis that is, the famed dance band singer, and we would meet in the Mayfair Wine Bar in Albert Street, now long since gone, and then catch the number 22 trolley bus to Ashbourne Road and the rink. We would enjoy a night’s skating, have supper at the fish and chip shop, and by the time the rink closed at 9.30 public transport would have stopped as well. That meant a long walk to Chaddesden, but it never took away the pleasure of a Saturday night out at Ashbourne Road rink.”

Mrs Betty Brooks, now living in Littleover, has sad as well as happy memories of the rink and the way war altered her life: “I had never been on skates before and I was really nervous about going, but Carrie, who we then my friend, persuaded me.

"When I saw them whizzing round the main rink I was frightened to death, and I said to Carrie: ‘I’ll never be able to go on there.’ But anyway, in a part of the rink they called Mugs’ Alley, I was shown how to strap on my skates with the buckles facing outward. At first I wore only one skate and this they called ‘one legging it’. That is, pushing yourself along as if you were riding a scooter. I was soon told this was not allowed and must put on my other skate. So I did, and it wasn’t long before I found myself sitting on the floor of Mugs’ Alley. It was then I felt a pair of hands at my back and I looked round and up at a boy smiling at me and tugging me upright.

‘It’s easier to do standing up,’ he was saying, ‘come on, I’ll show you’.’ With his arm around my waist he guided me up and down Mugs’ Alley and I began to get the hang of it and before the night was out he was taking me on to the main rink. And that is how I met my first real boyfriend. His name was John, John Starkey, a nice gentle person he was.

“I had been brought up by my gran who had this big house near to Markeaton Park. She was a bit straight-laced and I never did tell her about John until it was too late. He was two years older than me and it was a long time before I discovered he came from the West End. It was something he would never talk about, nor did I ever see where he lived or meet any of his people.

“We started going out together, you know, sometimes to the pictures or walking on the park, but we would always be at the rink at least twice a week. He was a good skater himself and it wasn’t long before he was teaching me to dance on skates. Oh, we did have some happy times together.

“Well, as you know, the war started later that year and by that time John and me were going steady, as they used to say. With the start of the war the rink closed and then opened again and we would go there Wednesdays and Friday nights right through 1940 and even when the war really got started and we began to get air raids, John and me would still be there.

“Saturday nights though we would mostly go to the pictures, sometimes in the town but generally it would be to the Popular in Mill Street or the Cosmo on Upper Boundary Road. We liked the Pop best of all because of the double seats they had on the back row. I just couldn’t help but be in love with him and we became secretly engaged.

“In 1941 he was called up and went into the air force and became an air gunner. After that we came together only two or three more times. His last leave was in December 1941 and we had the most happy and loving time together and I have never regretted what happened between us. We never met again.

“It was some weeks before I found out why his letters stopped coming. He had told his mother about us and it was she who wrote to tell me they had all been killed over Germany.

“Some years after the war I did get married and it lasted forty years. I know they say time is a great healer, and so it is, but it is also true that you never forget your first love.”

The rink was taken over by the army towards the end of 1940 and was later occupied by Canadian troops. Wartime secrecy meant that no intimation of its fate had been given out prior to its closure. “I was there on that last night, which was a Saturday,” continues Mr Richards, of Etwall Street, “I don’t know how the word got around but we knew this was going to be our last night and the place was absolutely full. Wartime is full of sadness and partings, we knew that, and in those days we came to accept the war effort came first. But it was a sad night, and if it doesn’t sound too dramatic, I saw it as a farewell to a part of our lives.”

After the departure of the Canadian troops in1 944 in preparation for the invasion of Europe, the Ashbourne Road rink was derequisitioned and a brave attempt was made in 1945 to revive it as a rink and return it to its romantic past.

But the generation that had cared so much for the place was no longer around and there could never be another Billy Mills or a Bob Hulme to fire the same enthusiasms to form new hockey teams.

After four short years the revival ended in near bankruptcy. The building passed into other hands, and with John Richard Clarke’s retirement, it all came to a sad end.

Today only a few memories remain of the pleasures and romances brought to so many young and not so young in a world that could never be again.

Harold Richardson.

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