Carmen Salt

I was in the Fruit Shop at the top of Main Avenue, Totley, when I came across a copy of the Totley Independent. What a feast of information, and to my surprise an article an Old Totley. There in print was my father Tom Salt who had lived at Woodthorpe Hall Farm. In the old days dad did the snow ploughing around Totley with a pair of horses, he also did the milk round - except on pay day -- that's when his father collected. He was the boss and liked his whiskey and I'm sure that not all the money went home on collection day, the 'Fleur de Lis' as it was called was too tempting a place. 

Dad's best pal was Reg Barber from the chemical yard (opposite the Shepley Spitfire and down a lane). When they had done their day's work, often starting at 4am ploughing the field where Rowan Tree Dell houses are now, it was Dad's turn to go to the Fleur de Lis. With beer at 1d. a pint, a good night was had, then on to Totley's Last Hope, or the monkey run as he and Roy called it. That was Sheffield's last train bringing the maids home to Dore and Totley. "Eee" he'd say, "there were some grand uns 'ont train." 

During the war years Dad was in the Home Guard, looking after the moors and based at Owler Bar. This was a big mistake - there was a pub, The Peacock! Dad called the Home Guard L.D.V. 'Look, Duck, and Vanish', and vanish they did into The Peacock, owned then by old Johnny R. Braum. First thing that had to be done was try and get the Sergeant drunk. This would leave the night free for them to do the same. They had one gun between them all and no bullets. Dad would say that "if Ikla (Hitler) landed it 'ud be a poorish job." 

Before Dad died in March he made his fame in many areas of life, being on the committee of Longshaw Sheepdog Trials, Hope Show, Holmesfield and Barlow Ploughing, Norton Ploughing, The Felons (the oldest police force) and Footpath and Bridle. The famous David Bellamy learned of my father's story so he was invited to do a series for Southern TV and there is also a video out about him. The names they had for people were wonderful, like 'Old Pot Mole Coates' who was the fellow who would pot mole your steps, it was the fashion then to have white around the doorstep. 

Dad's family land was from the bottom of the drive (Shepley Spitfire) up to White Gates, as they were called, the land each side of which was home to the air-raid shelters and search lights. Every time there was an air raid my Dad's father would grab his money bag and say to Kate his wife "come on missis, up the orchard" and they would go and sit in the hen hut until it was all over. Happy Days!

December 1997