THE END OF THE LINE….

In 1965 the Railway dropped another bomb.

Not just on the shop tenants this time, although it did seriously affect them, but it also concerned the whole town. Dr Beeching, a man previously never heard of, suddenly announced that in the interests of economy, many railway lines and stations were to be closed, the only ones left would be the main line stations in the big towns and to everyone’s annoyance Fleetwood did not come into this category.

Petitions were raised and signed, and we wrote personally, pointing out that the line had historic claims as it was the first coastal railway link in the world, but either Dr Beeching was impervious to any historic claims or he didn’t even see the letter – and I suspect the latter as we received an acknowledgement, but no reply to our letter.
Many traders in the town either did not believe it was going to happen at all or that if the railway did close it would not really affect them any more than they had thought the loss of the I.O.M boats would affect them, until the boats did stop and then they began to realise what a loss to the whole town it was.

people never learn do they? Even now there are some traders who would be willing to have the trams stop at Ash Street under the mistaken impression that it would not affect them.

One more than one occasion when there has been work on the tram tracks and the trams have finished at Ash Street every trader in the town has complained of the loss of trade, for the trams bring hundreds of thousands of people into the town in the summer and these people don’t just end up on the prom or in the market, the get all over the town.

Even in the winter the trams provide a useful service, so please do not support a stop the trams at Ash Street lobby, or there will be even more jobs lost and businesses close, and that we cannot afford.
But back to the Railway – the coal sidings, which had once been a busy area bustling with laden coal wagons and burly young men loading and unloading sacks of coal onto wagons for delivery all over the Fylde, had already closed and the area looked like a ghost town.

Part of a staff waiting room and goods depot at the bottom of Adelaide Street had been used for some years by an engineering firm, working often into the late hours of the night and lighting up the nearby streets with a weird blue light accompanied by unearthly noises from the welding machines which must have frightened the life out of many an inebriate leaving the Victoria or Steamer hotels, now that too were empty and silent.

And then came the lull before the storm, or so it seemed as we all waited, wondering what would happen next.

Surely, they were not really going to tear down our beautiful railway station? That was inconceivable, but soon the station staff were being transferred, retired or laid off, and the buildings were empty and quiet, waiting mutely for their inevitable fate.
I wandered around the desolate area remembering things, people and places, seeing again the ghost of our friendly porter who wore clogs and could walk or run over the tiled floor of the station with grace and silence of a ballet dancer.

I wandered through the cellars which had more recently been rented by Billy Greenwood from the ferry café and used as a rock factory for one of his ambitious enterprises.

This particular scheme involved us and Harry Corbet of Sooty fame. Harry Corbet was appearing in Blackpool that summer and had just introduced into his act a glove puppet which he named Sooty, and which was an immediate hit with the children in the audience.

As a publicity aid he thought up the idea of having bars of rock with Sooty’s name written through it to hand out to the audiences.

Billy Greenwood was engaged to make the rock, which he did in the cellars of the Railway refreshment rooms, and we were asked to make enlarged photographs of sooty and the rock and to frame them.

The station officially closed in 1966 and soon the sad day came when the demolition crew arrived and started to pull it down, and not only the station came down, but also the two bridges at the bottom of Adelaide Street and Victoria Street were removed.

I was particularly sorry to see them go, the stone bridge with the slope up which horses and carts had been taken for loading purposes and the iron bridge with the steps.

On sunny days in summer we had walked over that bridge to sit on the quayside where, with many other local people, we had eaten our lunch-time sandwiches in the sunshine throwing crumbs to the wheeling seagulls and oyster catchers.

I think a little bit of everyone’s life went with those bridges.
No one thought to tell the stations painters that their contract was ended and we had the diverting sight one morning of watching demolition men waiting for a man to finish painting part of the station façade before they carefully removed the gleaming new paintwork to throw it on the bonfire they had lit for the purpose of disposing of the woodwork.
The last passenger train left in 1968.

For a short time, Wyre Dock became Fleetwood’s station, but thousands of day trippers never came again and Fleetwood lost a lot more of its summer trade and revenue.
The photographic society was (and still is) going strong, but they were having some difficulty finding premises for their weekly meetings.

They had been meeting regularly in the Conservative rooms over the Electricity showroom in North Albert Street, but when the Electricity Board moved to Lord Street and the Conservative Club in Lowther Road was opened they had to look for a new meeting place.

During the next two or three years they were like nomads trying to find a permanent home. There were meetings in the N.U.R. rooms, Wesley Church, and even, during the last winter of the railway, meetings were held in the station refreshment room, the best two seasons being in the Derby Room of the Euston.

That was a cosy room and the bar was very handy!

But eventually we took the whole top floor of the old telephone exchange in North Albert Street, and everyone piled in to decorate and refurbish the whole floor.

Bill Greenwood (of Archbell Greenwood Ltd) provided an iron fire escape, Tom Pollard of the Surveyors Department designed the interior and safely negotiated planning permission, while George Johnson with the aid of many willing members built a magnificent stone fireplace in the lounge.

The ladies committee, headed by the redoubtable Kath Bell, raised funds, and organised and fitted a kitchen many a housewife would have been proud of, and for many happy years the photographic society enjoyed a peaceful existence there. With such large premises which were totally their own they were able to hold frequent meetings and did so, starting a number of allied groups, some of which folded after a few years and some survived.

There was a lively and active Travel group, a youth section, and an art section comprising embryo painters.

One of the leading lights in the Art section had been a trawlerman, and he told me that on one of his early voyages when the ship was trawling the Icelandic waters he still being but a lad and not able to help much with the nets at the stern, was put in charge of the wheel and told to let the Captain know if he saw anything.

Proudly he took his post and after a short while yelled to the captain, “I can see a seagull, sir”.

The captain went red in the face with exasperation. “Hells bells,” he shouted to the lad, (or words to that effect) “I’m not interested in b…y seagulls.”

The boy shrugged. “You will be in this one, sir,” he said, “It’s standing on a rock!”

Talking about Society in the town I saw Ernie Leadbetter the other day and he showed me a photograph of a group of people who were in the Fleetwood Literary and Art Society before the war.

Ernie is not too sure of the date but he thinks the photograph was taken about 1937 of a play the Society produced called “The Mysterious Mariner”.

It was written by George Yeo, and produced by M..L. Bowen and was given at the Co-op Hall in Kemp Street and Ernie, with his phenomenal memory has listed all but one of the cast. The one whose name he cannot remember but whose initial begins with C apparently was a chap who worked at Ludlams the chemists. You will see many familiar names there, including among others, Bob Porter who was later with the Electricity Board, and Joe Howorth the photographer. Today we have similar talent to George Yeo’s in Ronnie Baxter, a very talented artist, poet, historian and song and playwright. Ronnie recently wrote and produced a play which was given to packed and appreciative audiences in the North Euston Hotel, and follows a string of excellent plays and sagas which he has written and produced, including “Fleetwood to Frisco” and for the town’s 150th celebrations, “onwards”. He tells me he has plans for another block-buster and I am sure it will be another unmissable production from his prolific pen.

There’s no doubt about it, we have lots of excellent talent in Fleetwood.
Coming home from a shopping expedition yesterday I was stopped in Abbots Walk by a motorist.

In the car was is wife and a horde of yelling kids, they had presumably been holidaying in the town.

Winding down the window he put his head out and asked me the way to Birmingham.

For a few minutes I stood and thought, how on earth do you tell someone the way to Birmingham from Abbots Walk?

I pursed my lips and for a moment thought of the old joke of saying “Well I wouldn’t start from here if I were you”< thought better of it and, still wondering how to start to give him directions, said hesitantly, “Have you got a map?”thinking to use it to show him the way.

He snorted impatiently, “Course, I’ve got a b…y map”, he said in a broad midlands accent, and turning to his wife he said in disgust, I told you it was no use asking anybody in Fleetwood the way, they’re all b…y gormless here!”