Dore to Door internet edition

Local history - Spring 2004

Jean Recalls - Superintendent John Burford - Oral History Collection - Mi AMIGO, 60 years on

Jean Recalls

In the 40's parcels came by rail. The L.M.S. lorry was a familiar sight in Dore and Totley. Several times a year the L.M.S. would deliver us a tea chest, packed with all kinds of goods from my father's eldest sister who was a showman and travelled all over the Midlands picking up no end of bargains on the way.

We could hardly wait for them to prise off the lid and dive in. Sometimes the chest contained items of clothing or material which Mum could make into dresses for my sister and me. For these were the days of rationing and clothing cost coupons. If Mum could make our clothes, which she invariably did, then coupons could be traded. Mum needed more sugar than rationing allowed as she made lots of jams and preserves. Trendy women in the village were only too pleased to do a deal with her.

Sometimes we found exciting things, toys and books, though Dad made us a lot of toys. Once there was a fur coat which fitted me to perfection. I was really proud of that. No one else had a fur. I guess I was about 7 at the time. I was cock of the week then.

Tea, sugar and coffee and tinned fruit and salmon, though the coffee was usually that stuff in a bottle called Camp. Not really coffee at all. Soap too was a luxury. Mother preferred Roberts white Windsor for washing and Imperial Leather for personal use. To this day I can't stand the smell of Imperial Leather and the paper bit never came off and left a ridge.

Right in the middle of the chest, well wrapped would be what my gran was waiting for. A bottle of whisky. If it hadn't been there I think she'd have thrown a fit. It wasn't really stuff on the black market. More the grey.

With regard to the article by Maureen Cope in the last issue about Aunt Hilda, can I set the record straight? Hilda was married for over 60 years to Harry Warnes, not Frank. I treasure my memories of Harry, a lovely man.

Finally, in defence of the noble creature "the horse" [Ed - see letter in the last issue]. I can't believe that anyone would raise any objection to horse manure. They should have lived here a few years ago when cows went through the village 4 times a day. If you didn't watch out you could get covered in their excrement, or slip on the remaining pancake and come a cropper. This is what country life is all about.

Have I missed something? When did the last person go down with tetanus? It would be interesting to know. Most of the things we eat have some connection with manure. Shall we stop eating too! I can't see owt wrong with a good bit of fertilizer; but then I'm a yokel! Are we to ban birds also? They drop their bits everywhere, after all, and we might get Psittacosis.

Jean Dean

Superintendent John Burford

A letter in Dore to Door magazine no.71 from David Burford asked for any details of his great, great grandfather, John Burford, who was a copper stationed in the Derbyshire Constabulary's Dore & Totley Police Station on Baslow Road from 1886 to 1890. From my own records, and those of David, we have been able to track the life of John and below present a very much-shortened version.

This period was perhaps the most difficult for policing because the construction of the Totley Tunnel had brought many navvies into the district and crime certainly increased with this huge increase in the male population. However there were several incidents, before the villages were swamped, that may give some idea of the policeman's lot.

On 26 March 1887, PC Burford caught 11 men drinking out of time, at 3.45, and they were fined five shillings or two shillings and sixpence. The men said they came from over three miles away (Ecclesall and Sheffield). The case was dismissed.

Then on 25 April 1887, PC Burford caught young boys damaging the underwood at Dore, owned by the Duke of Devonshire. PC Congreave corroborated, mentioned that there were thousands of people in Dore on Easter Monday. No fine, but the lads were ordered to pay four shillings and sixpence costs.

Around 1888-9, a tailor named John Royles, probably from Sheffield, made a couple of waistcoats and walked up to Totley to see if he could sell them to any of the navvies working on the Totley Tunnel; for the waistcoat was part of their usual dress. He could not interest anyone in the Cricket Inn so he walked down to the Crown. Here a miner called George Thynne tried one on and strutted outside where he was chased by Royles and the waistcoat retrieved.

The tailor, realising that nobody there was going to buy from him, wrapped the garments in a bundle, tied it to a stick and set off towards Dore. After 20-30 yards Thynne ran up and snatched the bundle, quickly disappearing. Constable Burford was called and when he arrived at the miner's house in Totley Bents, found him wearing one of the waistcoats. In court the prisoner explained that he'd been drunk and as he had a mother and father to keep he hoped the bench would be lenient. The outcome is not known. One corroborating witness, Samuel Ware, who lodged for a time in the Cricket Inn was later to be found guilty of beating up his wife.

Burford was involved in many incidents whether assault, burglary, poaching or the attendance at accidents in the tunnel workings. In November 1888, tunnel labourer Edward Harris was accused of stealing a basket and sixteen eggs from local shopkeeper Mrs. Thorpe. The P.C. apprehended the thief and received a good kicking around the legs for his trouble. He stated that the navvies went around in gangs and the police needed protection. Harris received six weeks hard labour, probably no worse than tunneling.

Then in October 1889, our bobby caught J. Dyson a pipe manufacturer of Stannington, driving a traction engine without licence. William Lomas appeared in court and said that the locomotive was his property as he had taken over the business. However the eagle-eyed Burford had spotted that a plaque was clearly marked Dyson 8991, which was for a Yorkshire licence and the traction engine had been spotted at Dore Station, some 50 yards into Derbyshire. These machines were not at all popular for they made a mess of the rather primitive road surfaces and also frightened horses that were travelling past.

Policemen tended to serve in Dore & Totley for just a few years before moving on elsewhere. In Burford's case his term here was probably brought to an abrupt close by an incident that happened on the night of 17th January 1890. A burglar was spotted in bushes in the garden of Mr. G. Slater at Wood Lea on Dore (New) Road and was tackled by the P.C. who received two crashing blows to the head after his helmet had been knocked off. Despite being stunned, he fought vigorously and Mr. Slater, hearing the commotion, threw open the window, at which the burglar pulled out a gun and fired two shots at Burford. One bullet whizzed through his whiskers and grazed the cheek; the other glanced across the top of his head. The policeman became faint from the loss of blood and his assailant escaped. I do not know if any arrest was made.

John Burford was off work for three months and was then promoted to sergeant and transferred to Parwich. Dore & Totley residents presented him with an illuminated address, silver watch and chain, and a purse of gold as a mark of respect and in recognition of the faithful and able manner in which he had despatched his various duties. For a time he was stationed at Roston where he was attacked by a stick- wielding poacher, who was thrashed well and truly!

Later in life, John rose through the ranks and became a Detective Inspector and, in this capacity, he had the honour of acting as bodyguard to the Prince and Princess of Wales when they visited Chatsworth. Eventually John ended up as Superintendent of the Ashbourne. District, being affectionately known as the father of the Derbyshire Constabulary. He died aged 58 in 1913. There was a large turn-out for his funeral, a mark of the respect in which he was held.

Brian Edwards

Oral History Collection

In conversation with Doris Stead

Doris was born in High Wincobank, Sheffield on 31st May 1912. Her father was a master plumber and her mother started up her own successful corner shop. Doris was the eldest of four children with three younger brothers. She remembers, "We hadn't much money but we got by." At the age of eleven she won a place to Marlcliffe Grammar School which she greatly enjoyed and at sixteen went on to Wright's Business College in Sheffield. Doris recalls, "He was a martinet, a sarcastic man but a very good teacher."

Once qualified as a secretary, she applied to English Steel Corporation, one of the biggest steel firms in Sheffield, where she was accepted for a month's trial and ended up staying nine years in a job she loved. The firm maintained an excellent sports club and field which was only walking distance from Doris' home. She explains "I met my husband there. He played rugger and I played hockey. I was a bit on the sporty side and mad about ballroom dancing."

Doris' late husband Eric was an engineer who "did his time", seven years in all, with English Steel Corporation. Later he became works engineer at George Roxley and Sons next door to T.W. Ward in Sheffield.

Eric and Doris were married in 1938 by which time they had already bought their home at 1 Meadway Drive, where Doris still lives. Building on the Meadway in 1935 was the first stage of the inter-war development of Dore and the arrival of so many "incomers" was rather resented by the long-term residents. Doris laughs, "Well, coming to Dore, which was decidedly a village, the villagers didn't like us at all. Even the shopkeepers were a bit peculiar." How things have changed!

Doris remembers a village quite different from today's busy centre. There were a few shops for the basic food requirements but very little else – two bakers, two butchers, a post office but no chemist. The post office managed by the postmaster Mr. Mace was situated in the middle of the present Hare and Hounds building with the sorting office on the first floor. W.E. Thorpe, Family Butcher occupied the shop on the left hand side and a little grocer's shop was on the right, next to the original public house.

As a newly married, energetic young woman who had worked in a large firm for nine years Doris admits to having been "bored stiff". She explains "In those days a married woman didn't keep her job; she had to leave when she got married. She was doing someone else out of a job and, anyway, she was expected to be at home looking after her husband." So, Doris joined the W.R.V.S. and became active in voluntary work like so many women of her generation.

Eric and Doris soon made friends in Dore and through Alex and Mary Aldrich they were introduced to the Dore Dramatic Society. The group met in the Church Hall that had just been built in 1938. Although the Society faded during the war years it started up again immediately afterwards. Doris reflects fondly, "It was a very good society, very professionally run and we met every Monday." They staged two or three full length plays every winter and usually performed from Monday to Saturday to full houses of audiences from Dore and elsewhere. Many patrons came by public transport and it was the custom to print the relevant bus times on the back of the tickets! "If the play was running a bit late you'd get perhaps twenty or thirty people leaving in a hurry because the last bus to town was going," laughs Doris while reminiscing over an album of photos and programmes of plays from 1946 to 1966. She mentions producers like Victor Mole and Lilian Hartley and actors such as Geoffrey Tomlinson, Pauline Moxon and Olive Lingard with backstage Clifford Hartley, Eric Stead and so many more friends and supporters. "Oh, it was great fun,"she declares.

Dore Dramatic Society could not perform during the war years because the Church Hall was kept ready as an emergency Red Cross hospital but thankfully it was never needed. Doris took part in the war effort by working again, driving for the W.R.V.S. and taking her turn at fire watching. "My opposite number lived at the top of Meadway Drive. He used to come and knock me up at 2 o'clock. I'd put my tin hat on and keep awake and be ready for anything happening." she chuckles. It was largely a case of looking out for bombs and knowing how to use a stirrup pump. Meanwhile Eric was doing his stint with the Home Guard.

Doris remembers vividly the night that a bomb dropped on her friends', the Hartley's bungalow on Church Lane. She was at a house on Furniss Avenue with a group of ladies who were knitting for the Forces, thick fisherman's socks! "On this particular night there was an alert and then we got this terrific noise and I can see us now, a room full of us, we all stood up immediately, ( we didn't get on the floor ) and said "There's bombs!" She relates that the bomb hit the centre of the bungalow and as the bedrooms were on either side, fortunately no one was killed. The only casualty was the dog! Doris pauses as she feels again her emotions of the night of January 9th 1941 - 63 years ago.

When asked - What is the recipe for her long and full life? Doris replies "I do think that being active and having a strong will to carry on and do things is the main thing." She does however bemoan the changes in today's society "Everybody's working, everybody's mobile, people watch television instead of going out. It's very dull now." Doris laughs lightly and her bright eyes and chic appearance display a lady who at 92 years of age still enjoys life to the full.

Maureen Cope, Dore Oral History Group

Mi AMIGO, 60 years on

Countless stories and recollections have been told and written, about Mi Amigo over the years, but there will be many younger people and those who are new to the Sheffield area who have heard little, if anything, of Sheffield’s B17 Flying Fortress, Mi Amigo, and the events which unfolded at around 5pm on, that cold gloomy evening of February the 22nd 1944.

I and my fellow workmates were preparing to finish work for the day in the cellar workshop of Fred Nichols electrical shop near to the bottom of Hunterhouse Road at Hunters Bar. At a couple of minutes to 5 o.clock we heard a huge roar, echoing across the valley that lasted only three or four seconds and ended abruptly. No sooner had we emerged from the workshop into the shop above, than someone came into the shop to say that an aircraft had crashed in the Endcliffe park.

Within 30 seconds, Tony, a workmate and I, were dashing across Hunters Bar and into the park, as a couple of kids would. The sight that greeted us on reaching the area just before the cafe and the stepping stones that cross the river, was something that resembled a present day major film set, a sight that a couple of fourteen year old youngsters would never forget.

This huge silver bomber lay amongst the broken trees, near to the bottom of the bank, and across the river. It’s nose pointed down towards the river and to the right of the back of the cafe some 50 metres in front of the aircraft, which appeared to have cleared the top of the bank with the pilot intending to land in the park but having dropped too soon. What the pilots thoughts were in those last few seconds, we will never know. Could it just be that he saw people in the park, a nice thought, sadly, one that will never be answered.

There appeared to be little damage to the aircraft, which was in one piece except for the tail and rear end of the fuselage which appeared, from where we were stood to have parted from the main fuselage and was left further up the bank. Contrary to a report that the wings had folded and the B17 had burst into an inferno, this I fear was an exaggeration. The wings, engines, fuselage and cockpit, were all relatively intact. The only fire that was visible, at that time, was a small flame and a little smoke from the left hand wing facing us.

There was a small group of perhaps 20 people where we stood, silently looking on, and a similar number further along the path to the left side of the cafe. The atmosphere was almost eerie, the only sound that could be heard was the crackle of an unseen fire somewhere in the plane and the unmistakable sound of ammunition exploding every few seconds. I am sure that none of the onlookers had given a thought that there may have been bombs on board, thankfully the bomb load had been jettisoned earlier over the North Sea, after the mission had been aborted and the aircraft had sustained heavy damage by enemy fighters.

The constabulary and other services arrived a few minutes later to usher us out of the park. Army personnel arrived later to cordon off the crash site. Tony and I left the park and caught a tram home to tell our parents what we had seen. Next days local newspaper told of the tragedy and that all ten crew members had perished. The Star also printed a picture of the burnt out wreck taken that morning, which was unrecognisable as the giant, gleaming silver B17 Fortress that we had seen the night before. Many stories of the crash were heard in Sheffield in the years following, some confirmed but sadly, many I fear were distorted and dramatised.

Shortly after the recovery team had cleared what remained of the B17 the park was reopened. Tony and I visited the crash site to look for any souvenirs....that we may find, which now appears rather disgusting, but collecting souvenirs is what kids did during the war. I doubt at the time, that we would have given any thought of the crew who had died on that bank only three days earlier, but we were soon to realise that they had and the memory of our finds will I am sure, remain with us for ever.

There were many bits and pieces left at the site which was by then wet clay with a little snow that had almost melted. Meters, gauges, bits of aluminium with webbing attached, could have been seats, and many other bits of unrecognisable metal. Unfortunately some personal and human remains had been left by the recovery team. I picked up a piece of leather flying helmet, which was approximately six inches by three inches, the leather was hard and scorched round the edges. I turned it over in my hand and stared at it for a few seconds before realising that I was not just holding a piece of flying helmet in my hand, in shock or perhaps shame, Il quickly dropped it on the ground and with my shoe, covered it with clay, where I would like to think, the remains still lay buried undisturbed to this day.

I also picked up a wrist watch, the strap was missing and the glass broken, after cleaning it and removing the glass, the fingers showed that the watch had stopped at two minutes past five. The watch was an Elgin steel screwed hexagon back with numbers or letters on the back, and could have been a U.S. Service watch. Tony found a gold signet ring which was out of shape and the stone was missing, his mother had the ring reshaped for him and a new stone fitted. I wonder if the person who now owns it knows of its history. A local man, wrote in the Totley news, a couple of years ago, that he still has in his possession a pair of flying goggles which he found in the river, below the crash site.

The memorial service in the park, this February 22nd will be scaled down from services in previous years due to the present terrorist situation. There will be a wreath laying ceremony in the park at 1pm and a memorial service at St Augustines Church, Brocco Bank at 1.30pm. Refreshments will be served in the church hall after the service. The memorial service will be to give thanks to and in memory of ten young men, who came from all walks of life and places across America, to help Britain in time of need, and to die together in our park.

60 years on, we can still say with pride and sorrow that Mi Amigo is Sheffield’s B17 Flying Fortress.

The Crew: John G. Kriegahauser; Lyle J. Curtis; John W. Humphrey; Melchor Hernandez; Robert E. Mayfield; Harry W. Estabrooks; Charles H. Tuttle; Maurice O. Robbins; Vito R. Ambrosio. George M. Williams.

Adios Amigos Jeff Hawkins

Copies of David Harvey’s book, entitled, Mi Amigo, The story of Sheffield’s Flying Fortress, are still available. Printed and Published by ALD Design and Print. 279 Sharrow Vale Road, Sheffield, Sll 8ZF.