Henry Cox, Full Transcript Part 2

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Henry Cox (HC) talks about John Delaney from Settle, “a great man in them [those] days,” a tradesman in paraffin sales.

W R Mitchell (WRM) then asks a series of questions about cotton mill life, with an overall assessment that life at the mill was not bad. The interview finishes with HC singing to his wife, Belle Cox (BC), their Diamond Wedding song.


[Start of Side B - 00:00:08]

HC: I’ll tell you who was a great man in them days, an’ I believe he got sacked at Christies. [Pause] One of the great characters of Settle, John Delaney; you’ve ‘eard speak of ‘im.

BC: Oh, yes.

HC: He was brought ‘ere from Norfolk to be overlooker at Christies, an’ he started a business on his own at Langcliffe to make a bit of money sellin’ paraffin. Christie, from what I can mek out, give ‘im to understand he’d either to give one job up or t’other. He wouldn’t let ‘im ‘ave both jobs. If he wanted to be a tradesman sellin’ paraffin, he could ‘ave it but he’d ‘ave to finish bein’ an overlooker at Christies. An’ he decided on the paraffin job, as far as I can mek out, and he turned out a millionaire. So he did the thing right an’ he turned out to be a great character, yer know, of Settle? He was a big Liberal.

BC: Did yer know ‘im?

HC: No.

BC: And Carrie, Carrie Delaney.

HC: And during the First World War I think he ‘ad a lot of money invested in Germany, an’ he lost it all, so I’ve ‘eard ‘em say; although he still died a millionaire. He opened Horton Lime Works.

BC: Them flats are Delaney’s flats, you know, in Chapel Street? When Carrie Delaney adopted a daughter, and did yer know Barwicks?

WRM: No.

BC: Oh, Billie Barwick were t’chauffeur for Mr Delaney and my cousin worked for ‘er. An’ I worked for ‘er when one of ‘em was poorly, an’ she asked me if I would come with a cook, an’ I did, an’ I worked for a fortnight. And she said, ‘Mrs Cox.’ I lived then up there, up by t’Catholic Church. An’ she said, ‘Mrs Cox, you’ve been very, very useful to me, an’ you’ve been very, very clean.’ She said, ‘If I ever want anybody, will you come again?’ I said, ‘If I’m at liberty.’ An’ my cousin was there until the time as she died, yer see? An’ she used to go abroad with Miss Harriet Parker that lived down ‘ere. She were a companion to ‘er. Well, this ‘ere adopted daughter got all the money, an’ she had them ‘ouses built, Delaney Park, she called ‘em Delaney Park. An’ she was a little madam when I worked there for that fortnight.

HC: And he started off at Christie’s as an overlooker.

BC: Aye.

WRM: What were the conditions like for the mill workers? I mean, what sort of housing conditions did they have?

HC: Well, they were alright.

BC: Oh, nice little cottages, yer know?

HC: There was no electric light and no gas; it was all practically oil lamps ‘til they got t’gas in.

WRM: But there wasn’t any terrible poverty was there?

HC: There wasn’t any what?

WRM: Any terrible poverty?

HC: No, oh no; no I couldn’t say that. But at that time, when we’re talkin’ now, the poverty was outside of Settle an’ district, because you could get up at any time in the morning and somebody would be knocking at your door begging for a crust of bread, or they ‘ad a can and would they fill it with hot water. There were allus beggars about, and not only that yer could come across street singers, singing in t’street yer know and whippin’ round for people to throw pennies out for ‘em. Yer don’t see that today, there’s nothing o’ that. They don’t know left from t’right today, or how people had to live in them days. But we allus seemed to get through some way whatever difficulties there was.

BC: And there were lodging houses yer know, for men, and women. Lodging houses open for t’night.

HC: Aye, pay before you climb.

WRM: Where were these?

HC: Albert Hill.

WRM: Did mill workers live there?

BC: Oh no, men off t’roads, and women off t’roads, families.

HC: Oh, tramps as we call them. There were allus tramps. Giggleswick workhouse was full of ‘em at one time, they used to come round, mek a practice of comin’ round. And the tramps would come and knock at yer door and beg something to drink, an’ they’d go into t’workhouse for t’night, an’ they ‘ad to stop in that workhouse if they’d signed in and they got a feed of bread and cheese or onions or summat o’ that, an’ they slept that night an’ next day they ‘ad to be marched down to some huts wi’ gates on an’ they had to break so many hundredweight of stones or something for t’roads. An’ as soon as they’d brok them an’ they’d finished for that day, they’d another night’s doss and then off next morning. An’ there used to be regular tramps come around year in and year out, an’ they’d come from about Kendal hereto and then from here you’d see ‘em setting off to go to about Clitheroe for t’next do; an’ the same lot in about three or four month they’d be comin’ round again. You’d notice they were the same chaps again. An’ us lads at Giggleswick, we used to wait and watch when they went into t’workhouse they used to tek all what they had in their pockets out an’ go an’ hide it in t’walls. Tobacco or pipes or matches or owt o’ that, they weren’t allowed to tek ‘em in. They used to hide ‘em in walls. We used to see if we could watch ‘em an’ then nail ‘em. [Laughs]

WRM: Did you have any ‘do’s’ at the mill? Was there an annual party or anything?

BC: Oh yes, they used to have a dance, didn’t they? It were latish on, after I left.

HC: I’ve ‘eard ‘em say that when Willie Christie was twenty one - I’ve ‘eard your Dad tell this. When Willie Christie was twenty one year old, Hector Christie give a dance, a party, an’ it were ‘eld up in t’bell room, that’s top room on t’right hand side. A twenty first birthday; an’ he lived to be a hundred and one, t’same fella.

BC: Aye.

WRM: You didn’t go to it, of course?

HC: Oh, I wouldn’t go. Her Dad, he were working at Christies at that time; I wouldn’t be alive then. You can reckon about it, that would be about...

BC: Was that when Dad worked at Christies?

HC: I’ve heard him tell. Oh, he’s worked at Christies has your father. I’ve ‘eard ‘im tell about it. He went out to decorate t’room.

BC: That’s because there was nothing else here then in them days, yer know?

WRM: What could you be sacked for in those days?

BC: Being late.

WRM: Could you be sacked for being late?

BC: Yes, if you were late a lot of times you could be stopped.

HC: Oh, by gum, aye. Yer know, there were none o’ these ‘ere Unions, there were nowt o’ that. You were bound ‘and and foot, sort of thing. And another thing, this: if you left Christies you couldn’t get a job at t’Paper Mill. They had it bound together. If anybody left t’Paper Mill, you couldn’t get a start at Christies. They had that between them had Roberts’s and Christies. But they used to leave, when they got men, to leave to go into t’quarries. Men what worked at Christies as lads, went into either Giggleswick quarries or Horton quarries, or Stainforth or Craven.

WRM: Was it an unhealthy sort of job really, working in the mill?

BC: No.

HC: Oh no, there was no dust flyin’. All dust there would be’d be off the yarn. In the gassin’ room: that was the most unhealthy job in the lot because these ‘ere hundreds of lights were goin’, and hundreds of ends were runnin’ through these little blue lights, an’ there were allus stuff comin’ off ‘em. An’ we ‘ad a system by which they went up through a little ‘ole into a long tube, an’ a fan used to blowin’ all that stuff out. But before they ‘ad that you couldn’t see across t’gassin’ room, before they put this installation in; you couldn’t see across, it were all blue, blue wi’ fumes an’ that. That was unhealthy. An’ you could allus smell any girl or any man that worked in the gassin’ room. You could allus smell ‘em, couldn’t yer?

BC: Oh, aye.

HC: On their clothes; you could allus tell they worked in t’gassin’ room.

BC: I was a ‘firmer’.

WRM: I mean you didn’t get cases of young children kind of falling asleep over the machines or anything, did you?

BC: Oh, no.

HC: Oh, no. If yer wanted a dodge o’ owt yer...

BC: Yer’d go in t’dinner hour.

HC: No, you weren’t even allowed to take matches into t’mill, but they did do. Folk used to take matches and cigarettes and dodge out. Maurice Nixon smoked many a hundred cigarettes. Maurice was t’painter, but Maurice when he wanted a smoke he allus had a tin to clean out: a paint tin. He used to bring it out and tek it into t’yard, ‘our playground’, to clean this out so he could ‘ave a smoke. Aye.

WRM: What pranks did you get up to when you were young?

HC: In what way?

WRM: You mentioned about throwing things at the lights.

HC: Ee... [Pause]

BC: When I worked at t’mill we used to sit out in t’summer for our breakfast, yer know, and there were three of us. An’ there was a milkman used to come down with t’float, to tek it to t’station in them days, an’ so we said, ‘Will you give us a ride up to t’White House?’ That’s on to High Mill way. I worked at t’Shed. Bulman ‘as it now. And so ‘e said, ‘Yes, jump into t’float’. So we went in and he took us to Stainforth. I says, ‘Ooh, no, we’ve to geroff at Langcliffe.’ I says, ‘We’ll be fined.’ An’ as I say, he took us up to Stainforth an’ when we got back we had to tell Jack Peel, he were our overlooker then, what we’d done and so he says, ‘Well, you’re fined.’ It would be about tuppence off wer wages, but it were a lot in them days. An’ so when ‘e passed next mornin’ when we were sat out we said, ‘What a trip to do’. An’ he said, ‘Well, you kept askin’ every morning when you were goin’ to give me a lift to Langcliffe, so he said I thought I’d take you to Stainforth.’ An’ he did do. Never no more.

HC: I once saw a lad tie another overlooker’s sleeve, he pulled his sleeve inside out – that were Jack Marsden to Tommy Bowen – pulled his sleeve inside out, both sleeves an’ then tied ‘em an’ then shoved sleeve back. Tommy comes, he ‘ad to go to t’Bank that day at dinner time, either to draw some money out or put some money in. He said he were goin’ t’Bank so Jack thought he’d do this ‘ere and Tommy was struggling away, he couldn’t get his arms through. He didn’t get to t’Bank that day didn’t Tommy, but when he found out what ‘ad ‘appened he said, ‘I knew who’d done that job, I could tell right aways, it were Jack Marsden.’ ‘I’ve never seen such a thing,’ Jack said. But anyway, that passed off. Nex’ time I saw Jack Marsden again we were workin’ overtime, stock pickin’, workin’ while nine o’clock at night an’ there were an overlooker there called Tom Morphet at that time, no.3 he was, burnin’ room. An’ Tom used to, when he came in of a mornin’, he used to tek ‘is shoes off like that. We allus used to tek wer boots and clogs off when we went to t’mill and ‘ad slippers on, or ol’ shoes to nip about on inside t’room. Tom used to sit on a form like this, tek his shoes off and put ‘is feet in ‘is slippers like that, an’ just leave them again this ‘ere stool that ‘e sat on, and do ‘is job. An’ then nex’ mornin’ we were workin’ overtime and Marsden says, ‘Will Tom’s shoes be ready for mornin’?’ I said, ‘Aye.’ He says, ‘Where can we get some three inch or four inch nails?’ I said, ‘We can find some if tha wants some, what’s tha want ‘em for?’ ‘I’ll show tha.’ He gets these two nails and he hammers ‘em through t’heels of these clogs, into t’floor like that. Tom comes next mornin’, sits on t’stool, teks his feet out of his own boots, shoves ‘is feet in, tries to get up, couldn’t get up an’ does a double head first and jr tumbled out o’ ‘em. [Laughs] He started swingin’ did Tommy, ‘I know who the ruddy ‘ell done this! Them chaps ‘as bin on stock-tekin’.’ He says, ‘I’ve an idea who it is, an’ all.’ He says, ‘It’s either Harry Cox or Jack Marsden’. It wasn’t Harry Cox, it was Jack Marsden. He reported it to Peel but he took it t’right way.

WRM: Who made your clogs?

HC: Eh?

WRM: Who made your clogs?

BC: When you wore clogs.

WRM: Who made your clogs when you wore clogs?

HC: Oh, Ned Wilkinson at Settle, under t’Shambles, second down under t’Shambles.

WRM: What were they made of?

BC: Leather.

HC: We used to get a pair of old boots and tek ‘em to be clogged. They used to cut bottoms off and fasten ‘em onto clog soles.

BC: Wi’ carkers on, yer know.

HC: An’ then put iron carkers on. Your Finn could do it; he did me a pair once.

BC: Yeah.

HC: If yer ‘ad a pair o’ good ol’ tops, yer could ‘ave a pair o’ good clogs without ‘arm.

BC: You could buy the soles.

HC: If you was buying a new pair, Ned Wilkinson used to mek ‘em. New leather tops and new bottoms, an’ they cost about six or seven bob; less than ten bob.

WRM: When was that?

HC: Yer could get a pair of clogs, shoes med into clogs, for about 3s.6d.

WRM: What time was that, what year about?

HC: Oh, anywhere from the nineties.

WRM: What was it about clogs that people liked?

HC: Well, they were warm for your feet. But they were no good in winter. They used to patten, yer know? They used to build up under t’carkers. All quarrymen used to work in clogs at that time an’ they used to have carkers on an’ then carkers in between, to prevent them being worn out wi’ the stone.

WRM: Did you used to have a knocker-up in Settle?

BC: Oh, I’ve ‘eard tell of a knocker-up, but we never ‘ad one.

HC: I never remember seeing anybody, but there might ‘ave been at Giggleswick wi’ a prop and on this prop were a loose wire, rattlin’ at bedroom winder and yer kept on rattlin’ while they got up and answered yer. Then yer left them. Yer got so much a week for that.

WRM: Do you remember that?

HC: Oh, I think I can, aye. But we never ‘ad one, we depended on one o’ t’family wakenin’ up, then we were all goin’ to t’same place.

WRM: When did you have your big meal of the day, was it in the evening?

HC: Dinner time. When we come ‘ome from work, me mother ‘ad been at work, we ‘ad to wait. Well, it was a meal of some description at night, I can’t remember.

BC: We went ‘ome for wer dinner.

HC: They went ‘ome for their dinners. If we’d one good meal a day in them days it was Sunday, allus Sunday dinner was a real good ‘do’. We never bothered much about anything else.

WRM: What did you have for Sunday dinner?

HC: Same as they ‘ave today, a roll of beef.

BC: Yorkshire puddings, yer know?

HC: Yorkshire puddings, rice puddings.

BC: Allus rice pudding or sago when we were at home. Me mother were a lovely cook when she were livin’.

HC: Oh dear.

WRM: What did you do about holidays?

HC: About holidays? Well, there weren’t any holidays, we never were paid for ‘em. All t’holidays we used to get was we started off at Easter: we’d Good Friday, Easter Monday, not paid; Whitsuntide, Whit Monday, August Bank Holiday, Christmas Day and Boxing Day. We’d no regular ‘olidays an’ we never were paid for ‘em. Hello!

BC: This is Bernard and Anne.
[Interruption in tape]

HC: I don’t know whether it come in as a compulsory job, a Government job, but all holidays had to be paid for an’ they ‘ad to ‘ave regular ‘olidays. That’s like a fortnight, a fortnight in summer. An’ how many days ‘oliday ‘ave they now?

BC: Oh, I’ve no idea at t’moment.

HC: They get a fortnight independent of the Bank Holidays.

WRM: Wasn’t there a Settle holiday week?

BC: Yes.

HC: Yes, there was.

WRM: But the mill didn’t close, did it?

BC: Yes.

HC: Oh yes, the mill closed and all the works were supposed to close.

BC: But you never got paid.

HC: You never got paid. And then this order came in that all ‘olidays ‘ad to be paid. I think it must ‘ave been done by the Unions, or the Government. It’s all paid for now.

WRM: What did you do during Settle holiday week?

HC: Well, go to Morecambe for the week. We used to go to Morecambe, tek Bernard as a little lad; we ‘ad a week at Morecambe.

BC: Then we went to Blackpool an’ Bridlington.

HC: We could go to Morecambe. We used to ‘ave an ‘oliday club at t’mill an’ we used to put so much a week away into this ‘oliday club, an’ it were banked. There must ‘ave been one or two fellas take it over. An’ it were banked, an’ then at t’week before Christmas they’d go an’ draw all this money out o’ t’bank, an’ then pay you all so much. Yer ‘ad a card, an’ every time yer paid into it, every week, every Friday or whatever day it was, it was marked on yer card an’ then yer drew that at t’end o’ t’year. But what it ‘ad made in interest at t’beginning of it, the man as worked it used to ‘ave it for pay; but after that they found out I believe that it was the man who was doing it was gettin’ a bigger wage than anybody else, so they stopped it and this chap offered to do it for nothin’ like an’ jus’ to do it for t’benefit o’ people, an’ I think they give that interest it had made to some charity: that interest that our ‘oliday money’d make. An’ then we were able to go to Morecambe wi’ a few pounds, which were a lot in them days.

WRM: How many pounds would you have for your holiday?

HC: Well, it depends what you could put in.

BC: Twenty pounds in them days went a long way, didn’t it?

HC: And as soon as you come back again, to start again, this ‘oliday money’d start. An’ if you were on piece work an’ you made a good wage one week, you’d ‘appen put four or five bob in. Next week it would ‘appen that yer would only put a bob in, or two bob. Next week yer could ‘appen afford to put nowt in. Yer wasn’t forced to put it in, yer could put in what yer liked.

BC: But we allus had a holiday.

HC: We could allus get a holiday out of it.

BC: Blackpool, Bridlington, Bournemouth...

HC: Oh, we used to go all over.

WRM: When did you first have a holiday?

HC: Pardon?

WRM: When did you first have a holiday? When you were a nipper?

HC: I don’t know; I don’t remember when it started really.

BC: We only went to Morecambe for the day, when we were at ‘ome.

HC: Whit Wednesday was Settle ‘oliday at Morecambe. Every other person yer saw in Morecambe on Whit Wednesday was either from Settle, Giggleswick or Langcliffe. They used to go on trips from Giggleswick station to Morecambe: it cost yer 1s.6d. Nine pence half fare, and under five or seven, free.

BC: Eleven pence some of them paid.

HC: Aye. An’ there used to be a trip set off first thing in the morning, an’ that trip when you got your ticket...

BC: And you’d to walk to Giggleswick station.

HC: And then one trip’d set off at dinner time. The dinner time trip didn’t come out of Morecambe ‘til ten or eleven o’clock at night, the day trip came out of Morecambe about six o’clock, and there were two different coloured tickets. But for all that, chaps used to go at eight o’clock many-a-time and not come ‘ome while eleven. And there was always a trip from Giggleswick every Saturday for about 1s.6d in them days.

WRM: So really life at the mill at Langcliffe, it wasn’t all that bad was it?

BC: Oh, no, we enjoyed it.

HC: Well...

WRM: Compared with some of these mill towns down in Lancashire, it was fairly good was it?

HC: Oh, yes. We didn’t know what were goin’ on in towns in them days, only by t’newspaper. We’d no television, no radio or anything to let you know what were goin’ on; an’ I don’ think there was as much...

BC: Oh, it’s murders...

HC: ...as much badness in them days as there is today. Well, at Settle they used to have a Court every fortnight, they don’t now, and in that Court people as were brought up in front of t’Magistrate he’d either be a beggar (you wasn’t allowed to beg) or somebody who had been locked up for being drunk. Today if they’re locked up it’s for doing some damage, or smashing things up as they shouldn’t do, but in them days you were allowed to sing in t’street but you wasn’t allowed to knock at doors to beg. You’d to wait on people an’ keep on singing an’ keep lookin’ up at winders, an’ see if yer could draw in somebody’s attention to throw a penny or tuppence out; an’ yer were allowed to do that but yer wa’n’t allowed to beg or to knock at a door, that was against the law.

WRM: In those mill days, what age were they when they started courting?

BC: Oh, my goodness.

HC: [Laughs] Oh, same as they are today, folk started at school

BC: Oh yes, we used to ‘ave many a young man what used to come.

WRM: I just wondered actually if you didn’t get much money at the mill, you wouldn’t be able to really start thinking of marriage for a long time?

HC: Well, marriage didn’t cost as much neither. An’ I’ll tell yer something if you’d like. Shall I sing ‘im that song to put on.

WRM: What’s that one?

BC: Oh, when it were our diamond wedding, he sang it at Bernard’s.

WRM: Ah?

HC: This is a song, it’s only one verse and people didn’t know that I...

BC: Should thee do it?

HC: Can you put it on, just for a bit o’ fun? [Sings unaccompanied]
Pal of mine
Through storm and sunshine
Though the gold ’as turned to grey
Deep in my heart love burns brighter
As you grow dearer day by day
Side by side we’ve journeyed onward
Clinging closer all the time
Dear old girl you’re still my sweetheart
Ever faithful pal of mine


BC: They’re clappin’.

WRM: Who wrote that?

BC: It was just before...

HC: Nobody knows who wrote that, only me; I wrote it.

BC: Did you see our wedding photo?

WRM: Yes, I did.

BC: Oh, I was going to say, it’s behind there. Did you see the one Bernard took?

WRM: Yes.

BC: And our Philip and them, and Michael. Michael lives at Guiseley and his little girl an’ that, yer know. Grandad says, ‘I’m going to sing’, and so he started to sing. Well, how they clapped him and clapped him, yer know?

WRM: It’s lovely. Did you used to sing songs at the mill?

BC: Yes, lovely songs.

WRM: What sort of songs did you sing there?

BC: When they were comin’ out, the songs what come out, we used to learn ‘em.

HC: After the war is over, Two little girls in blue, lads...

BC: Yes, and You are my sweetheart and all like that.

WRM: Where did you sing those?

BC: Anywhere.

HC: They used to sing them while machinery were goin’. They couldn’t ‘ear one another.

BC: No. An’ the fitters used to come to see to yer machines, yer know, and they used to fall in love with yer, yer know? An’ they were married men, many-a-time. An’ I worked where there was one long alley, that was the first alley, and the sink were on its left there and these ‘ere men they were from Bolton an’ they were electricians an’ they were both married, an’ one of them used to come down my alley, the younger one like. An’ Jack Peel were t’overlooker then an’ he came to me an’ he says, ‘You don’t encourage him down your alley, do you Belle?’ I says, ‘Oh, no.’ He says, ‘No, he’s not to come down there.’ An’ when Harry passed he said, ‘When will yer see me?’ yer see, which yer hadn’t to do, yer know?

WRM: What age were these mill workers when they got married? It would be later than today wouldn’t it?

BC: Oh, some of them got married young.

HC: The same as they are today.

BC: I were twenty three.

WRM: Yes, I mean nowadays they’re married about seventeen and eighteen.

BC: Oh, they are; no, there were none o’ that.

HC: No, but that without it were t’same as everything is today wi’ compulsion, there’s no different any other way. And Frank Reid... what d’yer call ‘im as worked at High Mill? Frank?

BC: Edmond.

HC: ... or Edmond? He ‘ad a scroll, a paper like rolled up. He showed me it. I said, ‘Where ‘ave yer got this from?’ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘look at it. Open it and read it.’ It was when Alfred Burroughs were at Langcliffe. He served his time at Christies as a joiner and then he got to be boss; he worked there all his life. But if you ‘ad a seen it, I don’t know where it is now, you’d ‘ave been surprised. What ‘is father and mother had to agree to on this scroll of paper before he started work at Christies, and ‘ow ‘e ‘ad to behave an’ all this, that an’ t’other, an’ when it opened out it were that long. Everything in there what he shouldn’t do, and practically everything what he should do while he was serving his time. He ‘adn’t to bother with the girls until he was a certain age, he ‘adn’t to bother with going into a public ‘ouse while he was a certain age, he ‘adn’t to drink, he ‘adn’t to smoke... oh, what a carry on. An’ then signed by Hector Christie an’ then signed by Billy Burroughs and his wife, that were Alf’s father and mother, before he could start. That’s what yer ‘ad to do in them days when you were servin’ an apprentice seemingly, an’ Edmond Reid ‘ad it. I don’t know whether ‘e ‘as it now.

BC: ‘e’s dead.

HC: Well, ‘e’ll ‘ave ‘anded it to somebody. If I come across Frank I’m going’ to ask ‘im.

WRM: I knew Edmond, you know, very well.

BC: Yes, nice fella.

WRM: He gave me an old-fashioned projector which he used to use up at Langcliffe Women’s Institute. He left me it.

HC: Aye? They were grand lads were them.

BC: And my Auntie Nellie, they lived next door to each other did the sisters yer knows, them that lived again t’mill, Shed Mill. And Nellie, that married Billie Brown, yer know, that died. Well, she used to meet me, she was very religious yer know? She used to meet me, and she used to say, ‘I’ve prayed for you’. I said, ‘Oh, ‘ave you Nellie?’ She said, ‘Yes. I’ve prayed for you. I’ve remembered you in my prayer.’ I said, ‘Thank you. You’re very good.’

WRM: They wouldn’t be all religious at the mill would they?

BC: No.

HC: Oh, no. Some of the most felonious lads that ever stepped in shoe leather they always sent to Christies, they always ended up at Christies when they left school.  I’ll tell yer, there was that. They could carry on today, if they’d bin livin’ a lot of them. Ooh, my word.

[End of Side B and interview - 00:37:03]