Smells and Bells
At the bottom of our back garden (yard in American English) was a railway. It was once part of the London, Midland and Scottish Railway (LMS).
The old LMS had created this line from Birmingham, to give them a toe-hold in Great Western Railway (GWR) territory.
But after World War II and the nationalisation of the railways, this line was now part of the Midland Region of British Railways. The rest of Bristol was served by the Western Region of British Railways, the successor to GWR.
"Our railway" was on an incline which was the second longest in England, and big trains would often be pulled up it with two front engines, and a rear engine, known as a “banker”.
They were steam engines. The smell of hot steam and coal smoke was often in our nostrils. It was a rotten day for Mum when soot from the engines infected her sheets drying on the clothes line.
Mr. and Mrs. Ford ran their tripe processing factory just the other side of the railway bridge. What a stench when they were boiling up tripe! “Not nice” as we might say today.
Not far away was Packer’s Chocolate Factory. Packer’s chocolate was of mediocre quality. But we could walk by the factory and enjoy the sweet smell of chocolate, and from time to time, if the wind was right, we could sniff it at home.
It was just last year (2006) that production ended at “Packer’s”.
(Their buildings once caused me great confusion. The factory was red-brick, but there was a marble faced section, at right angles to the factory. One day I asked Mum why that part of the building was different. “Oh”, she said, “those are the Offices”. But in Infants’ School “Offices” was the euphemism for toilets, and it was hard for me to understand why the factory had such a huge building for toilets - and marble clad at that!)
There were many local businesses. One was “Bedford’s Dairy” . The youngest Bedford son, Pete, would take me out on his electric milk float to “help him out”. He delivered milk to the local Abattoir on Gordon Rd. Pete took me into the Abattoir. The stench was overwhelming. He insisted that I should view the killing of a cow or steer. The beast was shot through the head, and to this day I cannot fathom why Pete Bedford wanted a 10 year old to see such a death.
St. Ambrose’s Church was a mile away. It had, and has, a grand tower with a full set of bells for change ringing.
Once, one of the Plymouth Brethren, on hearing the bells of Bath Abbey, said to me “Ah the tintabulations of hell”. But I always enjoyed the sound of St. Ambrose’s bells.
The old LMS had created this line from Birmingham, to give them a toe-hold in Great Western Railway (GWR) territory.
But after World War II and the nationalisation of the railways, this line was now part of the Midland Region of British Railways. The rest of Bristol was served by the Western Region of British Railways, the successor to GWR.
"Our railway" was on an incline which was the second longest in England, and big trains would often be pulled up it with two front engines, and a rear engine, known as a “banker”.
They were steam engines. The smell of hot steam and coal smoke was often in our nostrils. It was a rotten day for Mum when soot from the engines infected her sheets drying on the clothes line.
Mr. and Mrs. Ford ran their tripe processing factory just the other side of the railway bridge. What a stench when they were boiling up tripe! “Not nice” as we might say today.
Not far away was Packer’s Chocolate Factory. Packer’s chocolate was of mediocre quality. But we could walk by the factory and enjoy the sweet smell of chocolate, and from time to time, if the wind was right, we could sniff it at home.
It was just last year (2006) that production ended at “Packer’s”.
(Their buildings once caused me great confusion. The factory was red-brick, but there was a marble faced section, at right angles to the factory. One day I asked Mum why that part of the building was different. “Oh”, she said, “those are the Offices”. But in Infants’ School “Offices” was the euphemism for toilets, and it was hard for me to understand why the factory had such a huge building for toilets - and marble clad at that!)
There were many local businesses. One was “Bedford’s Dairy” . The youngest Bedford son, Pete, would take me out on his electric milk float to “help him out”. He delivered milk to the local Abattoir on Gordon Rd. Pete took me into the Abattoir. The stench was overwhelming. He insisted that I should view the killing of a cow or steer. The beast was shot through the head, and to this day I cannot fathom why Pete Bedford wanted a 10 year old to see such a death.
St. Ambrose’s Church was a mile away. It had, and has, a grand tower with a full set of bells for change ringing.
Once, one of the Plymouth Brethren, on hearing the bells of Bath Abbey, said to me “Ah the tintabulations of hell”. But I always enjoyed the sound of St. Ambrose’s bells.
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