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Today’s youngsters would probably turn their nose up if they were offered a family excursion to the bus terminus but, in the 1930s, it was the thing to do with your Sunday evening, recalls Kenneth Hill, of Vicarage Drive, Chaddesden.

Years ago, when we had trolleybuses in Derby, one of our favourite pastimes was a family outing to one of the many terminus stops around town.

These took place mainly on a Sunday evening. It was both popular and affordable and we would almost certainly meet some of our neighbours or friends, who would be doing the same. It provided the opportunity to swap news and have a good chat before setting off to walk around the area and catching a later bus back.

The first trolleybus in Derby in 1932

Shelton Lock was one of our most popular destinations, mainly, I think, because of the location of the terminus, close to the Bridge Inn pub.

I remember once sitting on such a trolley bus with my parents on the Sunday evening that the Second World War was declared.

It was a strange evening all round. Our vehicle suddenly came to an abrupt halt and we were stranded in Derby Market Place, owing to the failure of all electrical power. This was due to a terrific thunderstorm raging all around Derby.

The hail was drumming down onto the metalwork of the bus; the sky, which was black and menacing looking, was lit only by the light from nine burning barrage balloons which had been struck by the lightening and burst into flames. They drifted away and gradually fell to the ground like some wounded celestial beings.

This prompted someone behind us to conclude that they were a “sign from God” and that we were in for something terrible. I have to admit they were not wrong there.

It seems from that moment everything changed. The schools were closed down for six months and we had to fetch homework on Saturday mornings to be returned the following Saturday.

When we did eventually get back to school, lessons were rather different. First of all, we had to dig up the surrounding school gardens and “dig for victory”, growing vegetables instead of flowers. And every scrap of paper was to be used several times over by writing in the margins and covers of every exercise book.

This, of course, put paid to the trolleybus outings for us. It was not so enjoyable in the blackout, especially if you suddenly had to jump off and find the nearest air-raid shelter.

Trolleybus stops in Victoria Street and the Wardwick, Derby

We still used trolleybuses to go to town, though, which could sometimes be fun. There were bus conductors in those days and the buses were always packed. Does anyone remember Claude, the Larry Grayson look-alike bus conductor, who used to shout “get up them stairs” or “move right along there and hold very tight please”?

As time went on, we boys graduated from “digging for victory” to spud-picking on Roe Farm which was just up the hill from our school, Nottingham Road Senior Boys, Derby.

We would earn sixpence (2.5p) an hour. We worked alongside the Italian PoWs. Although there were many posters around saying “no fraternising with the enemy”, most of us tended to ignore them.

This was probably because we had found a mutual enemy in the shape of the farmer, who spent most of his time riding up and down on his tractor, swearing and yelling obscenities at us all.

I remember the PoWs cleaning out an old oil drum, chopping some potatoes into dice shapes and boiling them up for their lunch. They would sit around the fire wearing their brown cloth suits, with large bright yellow patches, in the shape of circles and squares, sewn on to them.

We boys, on the other hand, would “borrow” half a sack of potatoes, then hide it in the air raid shelter which was situated at the top of Wiltshire Road, on the edge of Roe Farm.

I would go back for mine in the evening. Although, in those days, we were always hungry, we would not normally have helped ourselves to food in this way.

I suppose it felt like a kind of revenge against that very disagreeable farmer.

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