o/ Council estates in Rotherham in the 70's and early 80's

[Shark27]

Did anyone have a Guzunder?

[Shark27]

I'll never forget that first day at t'pit.
Me an' mi father worked a 72 hour shift, then wi walked home 43 mile through t'snow in us bare feet, huddled inside us clothes med out o' old sacks.
Eventually we trudged over t'hill until wi could see t'street light twinklin' in our village.
Mi father smiled down at mi through t'icicles hangin' off his nose. "Nearly home now lad", he said.
We stumbled into t'house and stood there freezin' cold and tired out, shiverin' and miserable, in front o' t' meagre fire.
Any road, mi mam says "Cheer up, lads. I've got you some nice brown bread and butter for yer tea."
Ee, mi father went crackers. He reached out and gently pulled mi mam towards 'im by t'throat. "You big fat, idle ugly wart", he said. "You gret useless spawny-eyed parrot-faced wazzock." ('E had a way wi words, mi father. He'd bin to college, y'know). "You've been out playin' bingo all afternoon instead o' gettin' some proper snap ready for me an' this lad", he explained to mi poor, little, purple-faced mam.
Then turnin' to me he said "Arthur", (He could never remember mi name), "here's half a crown. Nip down to t'chip 'oyl an' get us a nice piece o' 'addock for us tea. Man cannot live by bread alone."
He were a reyt tater, mi father.
He said as 'ow workin' folk should have some dignity an' pride an' self respect, an' as 'ow they should come home to summat warm an' cheerful.
An' then he threw mi mam on t'fire.
We didn't 'ave no tellies or shoes or bedclothes.
We med us own fun in them days.
Do you know, when I were a lad you could get a tram down into t'town, buy three new suits an' an ovvercoat, four pair o' good boots, go an' see Frank Randall at t'Palace Theatre, get blind drunk, 'ave some steak an' chips, bunch o' bananas an' three stone o' monkey nuts an' still 'ave change out of a farthing.
We'd lots o' things in them days they 'aven't got today - rickets, diptheria, Hitler and my, we did look well goin' to school wi' no backside in us trousers an' all us little 'eads painted purple because we 'ad ringworm.
They don't know they're born today!!!

Luxury!!

[millmoormagic]

Roughest estate White City - Maltby
Sunnyside in general was a close second.
Roughest pub - Grapes
Best pub Mail Coach when Don and Pete ran it.

As a born and bred 'Sider i can't ever remember it being 'rough' to be honest, but it did, and still has to some extent, a reputation, what it is is a no nonsense type of place to live. Even today it holds on to some extent to the old fashioned values of people actually talking to each other on the street!. I concur with all those things Animalittle3 posted regarding growing up, people had a real community feeling for each other back then a a pride in their communities, regardless of how much(or little) cash you had, great times.

[animallittle3]

Two things left a huge impression on me growing up on a Barnsley Council Estate in the 60's and 70's .

Firstly , further up the street from our house lived a bloke and his family who's two lads we all knocked about with .

This bloke got the sack from the pit , he got caught smoking underground , getting the sack was only half of his problems .

He was no longer served in the local pub and club , his wife wasn't served anything in the local shops and us kids were not allowed to play with his kids .

They left the area within a month , no violence or intimidation or anything like that , just ostracized .

Never shyte on your friends and community , they were all he and we had .


Old Mr Slater was a widow and he lived alone on our street .

Lovely old man who in the summer liked to join in with us at cricket , I can see him now bowling with his braces and flat cap on .

Word was he was on the brink of a brilliant county career with Yorkshire when war was declared and his chance went .

We bought this lock , stock and barrel , he was the greatest living Yorkshire cricketer never to play for Yorkshire .

You couldn't get the old lad out , he had all the shots , he'd have batted all day if he had wanted to .

He died suddenly , we were distraught , we must have been on school holiday when his funeral took place because as the car drove from his house round our street with his coffin every curtain on that street was shut as a mark of respect .

People stood silent and removed their caps , he kept himself to himself and it was us kids who knew him best , but still the respect was there .

Respect for the elderly , they've earned it .

[kempo]

I have visited many council estates and consider myself an expert.

Finding a council estate is relatively easy as they are 'satellite cities' with the high rise dishes being readily visible from afar..Every house has a dish and the upwardly mobile may inexplicably have two......Oddly..nobody on these estates have a Sky subscription but own something called a 'chipped box'

The houses on the estate have certain characteristics which I liken to a syndrome found in my profession.....Front door with a hole in it at 'kick level'....number of house scrawled in white paint on the wall....long grass on the front 'lawn' hiding lumps of dog sh..it of various ages...an old well worn buggy parked outside the front door..the garden would also contain various white goods such as an old washing machine and an old settee facing south"

When enjoying a leisurely walk your senses will be filled with effing and jeffing, the sweet aroma of marijuana and the sight of young looking fat girls adorned with tattoos and accompanied by several snotty nosed kids,most with receding hairlines and some will be of colour.

On entering one of these houses you will be greeted by a barking,snarling animal that looks like a banned breed........

After the above greeting by the man of the house you will meet a canine sniffing your privates..

You will be dazzled by a curved screen 64 inch TV standing proudly in a room that looks like one of those seen on the news in Mosul...but on further scrutiny you will observe the room contents of overflowing ashtrays...empty cans of lager with a foreign sounding name...Pizza cartons of various ages.

[kempo]

On attempting to walk you will notice that the floor has an unnerving stickiness causing your mind to wander and wonder.

Seasonal changes can be observed on these council estates.

In the summer on a balmy August evening groups of lager swilling bare chested males can be seen 'gate lolling' discussing Black Holes, Big Bang theory and so on.

Winter comes and Christmas starts in November on these estates...Inflatable Santas.brightly lit reindeers,flashing Christmas trees will cover the outside of each of these houses in a wonderful yet early celebration of the festive season.

Of course not every council house fits this description as remarkably you will see in the midst of this squalor a smattering of normal looking houses standing proudly maybe as a homage to the seventies.

Roughest?

Canklow of course has always been rough but Atlas street in Brinsworth was rougher....Both made me the doctor I am today so violent roughnecks like MMMAGIC and wannabes like montyrhodes are just *****cats to me!!

[NeztheMiller]

I remember as a 14/15 year old lad with long hair running the gauntlet of skinhead gangs on the Kimmi Park Estate in the early 70s

Hah, tell me about it mate.

I too was hounded by these idiotic looking nerds who thought they looked good in their short jeans and their long Dr.Martens.

I was brought up on the Kimmy Park estate and most of my memories were of happy days playing footy on the streets with very little traffic to stop our games. It wasn't particularly rough living there as the estate wasn't all that old, but as soon as the Chislet youth club was opened, the "skinheads" thought it belonged to them and that's where all their "attacks" were planned, usually on me and my mates .... ****ers.

[Grist_To_The_Mill]

Grew up in Tinsley so could walk to Millmoor via the canal bank.

It was quite a tight knit community, now it's like downtown Islamabad

[CTMilller]

Born and brought up on one of the tree streets in Bramley in the early 50s. Not too bad really. The feeling of community then was strong as others have said - and not just on council estates. We moved to The Brecks in the late 50s into the first house my parents bought. I suppose the people buying their first houses were mainly off the estates so the same mentality applied...It wasn't just a Yorkshire thing either. My wife was brought up on a sprawling council estate south of Croydon and remembers it exactly the same way.

[Adventus2012]

We used to have great jokes like this.............

A guy went into a French seafood restaurant and asked to see the
dishes of the day. The waiter wheeled over a trolley with a large tank
full of various species, and the man examined the dishes.

"I'll have the little green squid with the hairy lip, please" said
the man. "An excellent choice, they have a delicate, mild flavour."
replied the waiter and called out "Gervais!"

A little French chef appeared with a large knife, the waiter
instructed the chef to kill the little green squid with the hairy lip.
Gervais was just about to slice at the poor squid when he noticed a tear
running down its face. Gervais is touched, and admitted that he hadn't
the heart to kill the squid.

"Not to worry" says the waiter, and called out "Hans!!" at which an
enormous German bloke came out of the kitchen. "Sir", said the waiter,
"This is Hans, the dishwasher. Hans kill that little green squid with
the hairy lip!"

The dishwasher wielded a huge rolling pin and was just about to
bludgeon the little green squid with the hairy lip when it cringed back
and gave a little cry. "I am sorry sir, I just cannot kill the squid"
Hans admitted, his lower lip trembling.

"Well sir," said the waiter, "it just shows......


That Hans that do dishes, can be soft as Gervais, with mild green,
hairy lip squid!"