J.P. Wearing of Pelsall

We used to live on the Lichfield Road, just past the Finger Post, in the row of semi-detached houses just before the hump-back bridge over the canal. My granny used to like to tell the tale about the day a hearse took the bridge too quickly and a coffin flew out of the back of the hearse. She never did say whether there was anyone inside the coffin. There were quite a number of us growing up there: Peter and Ivan Weston, Roy Aston, Alan and Christopher Petty, John Read, and probably some others I don’t recall. Back then the houses were surrounded on all sides by fields, a natural playground, as was the canal and canal bank–though one day my brother, Michael, did fall in and came close to drowning. He used to jump on board the coal barges and go all the way to Brownhills and back, while I used to ride around sometimes with Mr Barton, who delivered coal. We went over to the pit at Little Wyrley where we’d stop in the canteen for a mug of tea while the lorry was loaded, and then set off to make the deliveries. In addition to playing in the fields, some of us used to play in the barn on Howdle’s farm or around to Moat (“Mod”) Pond either trying to catch fish, or in winter making slides when the ice got thick enough–though I remember falling through thin ice more than once.

I suppose my brother and I must have been around ten or so when we joined the choir at St. Michael’s. The vicar was the Rev. Chatham, and the organist and choirmaster was Derek Willetts, and a fine musician he was. The head choir boy then would have been one of the Fellowes brothers (Brian or Trevor?), and then came John Willdig, then myself (briefly), and then my brother (I think). Highlights of singing in the choir were going to Wolverhampton and Lichfield to sing in a Royal School of Church Music festival along with numerous other choirs. And then there was the time we went to Tewkesbury Abbey to sing a service there–quite an amazing experience capped by Mr Willetts playing a recessional voluntary that pulled out all the stops on the organ. Also at church I took part in some amateur dramatics run by the Rev. Chatham who use to play the dame in the annual Christmas pantomimes. One year I played Buttons and in another year, when for some reason the vicar decided not to play the dame, I took over the role. There was a memorable incident one evening when I forgot I was wearing a dress and took some very large steps in order to terrify my henpecked “husband.” I managed to put my foot right through the front of the dress which naturally brought the house down, much to my embarrassment. Apart from church, I was in the cubs run by Mr Massey, and we went camping at Beaudesert as well as going to a jamboree at the park in Sutton Coldfield. For a while I was also in the Red Cross run by Mrs Ivey in the Chapel Hall in Station Street, and earned some sort of badge in first aid. One time we went to some parade or other where one of the royals (or someone like that) took the inspection. It was a blazing hot day and I remember being told that, if I felt faint, I should move up and down on the balls of my feet–which proved useful advice.

I had a couple of jobs while I was growing up. One was collecting money for Websters the newsagents (my brother was a paperboy there too). Another was a Saturday job at Spencers in the Norton Road. On one side Mrs Spencer ran a toy store, while Fred Spencer sold bikes, mopeds, scooters, and fishing tackle on the other side. The one thing I disliked was during the fishing season when there were maggots for sale which we scooped up in pint-sized mugs from a big bathtub, until the maggots began to turn into flies!

It was quite a childhood, and I’m sure I’ve overlooked some things, such as being a bellringer (Wednesday night practice) and turning out to sing for weddings at half-a-crown (I counted myself really lucky when the bride and groom also wanted the bells–another ten bob). Yes, all-in-all, quite a childhood.

Peter is a professor emeritus of English at the University of Arizona.

All of us at Pelsall History Centre would like to thank Peter for sharing his boyhood memories with us.

To Contact Peter
email: jpwearing1816@yahoo.com