Derby - My home sweet home

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ONE does not realise how many friends are accumulated during a lifetime in Derby. Now approaching the ripe old age of 86, I weekly (or should I say weakly!) stagger down to the Post Office to collect my pension.

The other day, when studying my fellow geriatrics in the queue, I wondered whether they had spent such a happy life as I have living in the city of Derby.

To me, it is just the right size. When wandering through the streets of the city, you always seem to bump into somebody you know.

The climate is quite good; we seem to escape the extremely bad weather that other parts of the country suffer.

Do we really appreciate our city which is bordered on the north by the marvellous Peak District, where my wife and I have spent many happy hours hiking with our friends, Bess and Bill Jones?

In earlier days, we spent many happy hours roller skating at the Ashbourne Road and Reginald Street rinks. Then we progressed to dancing lessons at the Roy and Dorothy Moxon dancing school, going to many dances around the county, especially at the Assembly Rooms where, on one occasion, we were entertained by the band of the Royal Marines.

We also spent many a pleasant Saturday night at the Combustion Club (sadly, now demolished).

During my younger days, I watched cricket matches in the Littleover Lane area at the grounds of St Chad’s, Derby Co-op, Rose Hill, Normanton Congregational and the YMCA, which is now, unfortunately, covered by houses.

I had a very happy playing career in football before becoming chairman of Northcliffe United football club and, during the summer, I spent many seasons scoring for Derbyshire County Cricket Club.

Then there were happy days at the Baseball Ground where my wife and I, being season ticket holders, had many years of enjoyment watching the Rams when they were in their prime.

While all this socialising was taking place, I forgot to mention that I spent 50 happy years working at Bemrose & Sons, the printers.

We have lovely parks in the city where leisure time can be spent. With all these memories in my mind, whenever I was on holiday and people asked me where I came from, I always answered with pride: “I come from Derby.”

My ego was once deflated, about 50 years ago, when, in conversation with two young ladies in a hotel in Surrey, I mentioned Derby and they asked: “Where’s that?”

I shall always remember Saturdays when the 8am train took us to London where, over the years, we saw many top class shows – Laurel and Hardy, the Crazy Gang, Jimmy Edwards.

That was a show that I will always remember. I was sitting in an aisle seat and Jimmy came down into the audience and presented me with a bunch of carrots, saying: “To improve your night-flying, old boy!”

I recall once taking my wife to visit the Windmill Theatre with me. I will never forget the look on her face when the lights went up and she realised that she was the only female present, but she smiled when she saw the notice on the stage between acts which said: “Gentlemen, please do not climb over the seats.”

At the end of the performance, I went to collect my coat from the cloakroom and, as the attendant was not there, I leaned on the counter to wait for his return.

I received a tap on my shoulder and, looking round, saw a very distinguished gentleman offering me his ticket for his coat. When I explained that I was also a customer, he apologised profusely, saying that a person in his position could not be seen loitering in the Windmill. I did not recognise him but, over the years, I have often wondered who he was.

After an enjoyable day in London, we caught the late train from St Pancras. It was called “The Paper Train” because it delivered the daily papers to all main line stations before arriving at Derby at 3.30am. I shall always remember my wife saying as we trudged along the deserted streets: “Home again, Stan!”

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