May Blitz

Your place to talk about your Bootle memories
DeePerks27
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Joined: Wed May 04, 2016 9:30 pm

Hi, I've just found your site and was wondering if there is anyone who remembers the pub on Millers Bridge being bombed during the May Blitz?
My grandparents Charles and Mary Perkins ran the pub during that time.
My dad took me to Millers Bridge about 39 years ago and showed me the bricked up outline of a door which would take you into the pub. I would love to hear if anyone remembers the pub or have any pictures of it. Thanks Dee Anders nee Perkins
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fatboyjoe90
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Welcome to the site Dee, click on the link below and Scroll down to Bob B, post (Sun Feb 28, 2016, 12:15 pm) and I think you’ll find what you’re looking for. :wink: :D :D

http://www.bootlehistory.co.uk/forum/vi ... 6&start=35
Cheers Joe.
Jan
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Hello Dee,

Welcome to the site.

In the 1938 Liverpool trades directory 78 Miller's Bridge "Royal Standard" (pub) Charles Rt Perkins was the manager.

Jan
Old genealogists never die......they just lose their census.
lily8
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Hi Dee :D in 1939 the following were at the address




Perkins Household
78 Millers Bridge , Bootle C.B., Lancashire, England

 Charles R Perkins 04 Oct 1898 Licenser 
 Mary Perkins 09 Nov 1901 Unpaid Domestic Duties 
 Sarah Perkins 19 Jan 1874 Unpaid Domestic Duties

There are two other entries blocked out due to 100 year rule and I would assume it was their children?.
Lily
bob. b
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Welcome to the forum Dee
Joe thanks regards Bob
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BOBHAMO
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Hi Dee welcome the pub has lots of memories
for it was the first pub we could get served
when not quite 18 :D :D :D
hear is a photo of the bombing of millers bridge
the pub was destroyed and was on the right of the shops
down the steps
Image
bobhamo
bootle born altcar road
DeePerks27
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Joined: Wed May 04, 2016 9:30 pm

Thank you so much for all the info. My nan told me lots of lovely stories about her time in Bootle. My dad was actually born in the Royal Standard. Sadly I've lost my dad so I've been trying to find info so I can pass it on to my Geanddaughter. I noticed another post with reference to Jarvis Robertson which made me smile. Dad worked for them upto the late 60's. He used to take me and my teddy on some of his runs. Absolutely loved it. Thank you all again.
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BOBHAMO
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http://www.bootlehistory.co.uk/forum/vi ... on#p396049
there are some photos of jarvis robinsons yard on this post
at least Dee you have some info :D :D :D
bobhamo
bootle born altcar road
bob. b
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Bob fantastic pictures never seen that one before at the top of Millers bridge they must of got battered in the blitz.
My granddad would tell me he could hear the planes coming and the big bangs peter marsh and that area was him bad he would tell me.
They took the back yard doors off to protect anyone falling into the holes caused by the bombs
There was a Bridge leading to Bootle hospital from canal street there were lots of hole in it from airplane firing.
Remember JRT Horses they were very big got many a ride on them also brushed them , they were at the bottom end of the yard. :D :D :D
Regards Bob. b
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BOBHAMO
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There are some of Berry Street bob
wil put them on later
bobhamo
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BOBHAMO
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Image
MILLERS BRIDGE bombed looking down Berry street
bobhamo
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DeePerks27
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Gosh looking at that pic of the bombed millers bridge makes what my nan told me so real. I remember her saying when the siren went off they all, nan granddad great aunt Sarah my dad and his sister Lillian plus customers, went down into the cellar and stayed there until the all clear. She said you could hear great big rumbles but was so shocked when they came up. There was nothing left. She used to make me laugh as when they got up and tried to get threw the rubble, their was their guard dog, lapping up the spilled beer!! How true that was I don't know but it always made me smile. It's unbelievable how people carried on during thise times. I admire them all so much. Thank you everyone.
bob. b
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Bob what a fantastic picture how do you find them well done mate. :D :D

And l second that Dee It's unbelievable how people carried on during those times in Bootle to think l played there and did not know anything about it.

l look at these picture and think what did they go through in them days. All the people must have been so brave to stay there.

Thanks again Bob will send that on.
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BOBHAMO
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Image
Berry street with the railway pub at the bottom
Bob just like finding Photos :D :D
bobhamo
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bob. b
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Bob Fantastic picture of Berry Street the stanley pub was on right hand side Well done you for posting that picture.
lynne99
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Thanks Bob, absolutely brilliant.
PeterR
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Location: Evandale Tasmania

I cant remember if I have related this story before somewhere on this site but here goes.
I was five when the war started, us kids then thought it was great fun-not realising really what was going on.
from time to time we were evacuated -Southport -Hereford , I had come home,- one night during a very bad air raid us five kids and My Mam were in the Anderson shelter (The night the "Malakand " was bombed ) we were all on the floor of the shelter and My mam was on top of us praying to high heaven, then suddenly outside between the house and the shelter everything went WHITE--an incendiary bomb had landed just outside the back door -mayhem was supreme -Our neighbour from the back Mr Pritchard came dashing across the garden with His bucket of sand (In His pyjamas) and tripped over string that My Dad had put to keep US off the vegetable garden, That night I first heard some of the harshest descriptive swear words that ever came to My ears, My Mam really got stuck into Mr Pritchard about the swearing with young children it the shelter.-The ARP wardens got the fire out and dug up lots of soil from Dads veggie patch--I remember He was not too pleased to find Lettuces and Radishes strewn all over the place when He came Home in the morning from working on the dredgers in the river.----I suppose we were lucky living on corner of Southport Rd and Northfield Rd -MOST of the bombing was towards the docks ,canals and railways .
Peterr
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Invicta
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Great story Peter, thanks . Ken
Sheelagh Tequila
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Great story Peter :D ......Bob I don`t know how you find the photo`s but they bring all these tales to life, thanks so much again for the trouble you take.

Sheelagh Tequila :D
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Bonesy
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Bob (Bobhamo) your contributions are priceless well done mate.
Peter R, what a story, I was living every moment
Thank you.


Keith
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Ernie Jackson. (Bunty)
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Every so often a thread comes up that I really relate to. This is one of them and I hope that those who have already read this will forgive me for repeating it here..........................
......................................................................................................................................................................................

It’s three in the morning and I cannot sleep as we are in the midst of a heavy Floridian
thunder storm. Despite the heavy drapes, lightning constantly flashes through the
bedroom windows and the sheeting rain can be heard as it hits the roadway outside. This
sound is overcome only by the great crashes of intermittent thunder that are increasing by
the minute.

But there is a sound missing from all this and, suddenly, I am back to May, 1941, a
seven- year-old child with my small sister. We are huddled together beneath the staircase
of our small rented home in Bootle, within a half-mile of our enemy’s target, the great,
and vital Liverpool Docks.

The sounds of thunder have become the great crescendos of Nazi bombs as they hit
the ground, the flashes of lightning are clusters of incendiaries and flares falling
everywhere, and the splatter of heavy rain is the rattle of debris as it shoots across our
roof.

The Luftwaffe are undeterred by the flimsy barrage balloon defences. I recognize
that the drone of the engines is the only sound missing during this Floridian storm.
I also know that when the storm abates our Tara neighbours will still be alive and their
homes will still be standing. This was not the case when the air raid ended in Bootle.

My childhood home was one of many simple terraced houses, having three bedrooms, no
bathroom, and a kitchen with a single lead pipe, akin to a long lifeless grey snake across
the white-washed wall to a single, copper cold-water tap. Constant drips collided with
the surface of the shallow brownstone sink and disintegrated into spray, which, in turn
created an indoor rainbow as it reflected in the sunshine coming through the tiny kitchen window.

On Friday, bath night, we used the oval tin bath which hung by its handle on the wall outside. Hot water was obtained by boiling a kettle on the single gas ring and we considered this a luxury. The ‘bath’ was only big enough to accommodate one person so we took turns, my sister first, then me followed by my mum and lastly my dad who was the dirtiest, having just finished his long working day on the docks.

Our status symbol was our very own toilet in a small purpose-built building at the bottom
of the backyard. At night it was a place to be avoided since it was without any form of
illumination, and the giant creepy-crawlies would come out from the shadows and lay in
wait for imaginative unprotected children.

Daylight time was different, and hidden spiders, only interested in web-entangled
delicacies, would have no time for small humans. It was a cozy place and smelled of the
many annual coats of lime-wash on the uneven brick interior. Its latched, vertically
planked, wooden door opened inwards and an outstretched foot could comfortably reach
to press against it. This prevented unwanted company during a moment of ablutionary
solitude with elbows on knees and hands under chin..

It was a flush-toilet and a rusty chain hung from the steel cistern and had a wooden, unpainted handle, just the right height for easy grip and tug. Once pulled, the roar and hiss of cascading water was almost deafening and stray tom-cats, ‘til then asleep on the flagged roof (our sloping, south-facing sun patio), could be seen scurrying away in panic.

We were proud of our modern toilet. The residents a few streets away had to share with at
least two other families. Their kids called us ‘softies’ because we also wore shoes.



To be continued...................
PeterR
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Bunty, sorry about your awful thunderstorm--we got up today to a massive frost -4c temp -Lifes a bitch :D
:D Peterr.
Born in Spenser Street
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Ernie Jackson. (Bunty)
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Thanks for you comments Peter.

Seems you only read the first paragraph as the point of the story wasn't with the storm The storm was simply a metaphoric medium bringing back memories of the May Blitz and the way of life in Bootle during that terrible time. Those who simply read about it or hear tales of it will never understand how bad it was.

There are lots of publicity and opinions of more recent disasters but if all were added up they would only be a fraction of that endured in Bootle in 1941.

Sorry to see you have suffered -4 degrees. Hope you didn't have any burst lead pipes when the thaw came.

Life is, indeed, a bitch. :wink:
mckenna
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Ernie yes indeed i dont think people realise what you or i went through that time of the May Blitz also the Christmas one i think
was the first we endured was it 1940 i also am scared of thunder and lightning, I was 10 years old when war started never would
i like to go through that again, George formaly of Olivia Street.
g mckenna
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Ernie Jackson. (Bunty)
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Continuing memories of Bootle in the 40's

Our swimming pool was the nearby Liverpool-Leeds canal with its vertical block-sandstone sides reaching from the water to the tow-path. The filthy sea-water was covered with multi-coloured patterns of oil from exhausts of barges chugging slowly by.

The sun never seemed to shine but this, together with the occasional floating dead dog, bug-infested railway sleepers, and makeshift rafts put together and manned by rival gangs, did not deter our skinny-dipping . Underwater dangers from old prams, bikes and occasional stolen motorbikes were ignored. There were rumours that there were fish in ‘the cut’ out at Ford but it was too far and too expensive to go and find out. Anyway, we got our fish from Kitty’s chip shop on the corner and it was already cooked.

Strangely enough none of us kids ever seemed to fall ill. Not from swimming in ‘the cut’ and not from eating Kitty’s fish.

After swimming we would gather any wood we could find including opponents
makeshift rafts, soggy railway sleepers (bugs and all), wooden outside ‘lavvy’ doors
from local houses (always in danger of ‘vanishing’ as they were easily lifted off the
hinges) and virtually anything remotely combustible and available. A smoking fire
would soon be kindled on the tow-path.

When it was blazing, the shivering, budding Olympic swimmers, 7 to 14 years of age,
including bony-chested, wet, tatty-haired girls and oily, snotty-nosed boys would climb
from the water and gather together as close as possible to the heat. The lads needed only
small hands to completely cover their diminished manhood as they huddled around the
blaze. Some of the girls, displaying modesty not apparent when their small bodies were
hidden in the dirty water, crossed their arms over what could hardly be described as
breasts. Occasionally, some of the posh kids might produce a dirty, frayed ‘towel’ and
rub down before passing it to other less wealthy pals.

The almost audible knocking of knees would gradually stop as the heat from the fire
warmed us. Seemingly healthy smells of burning pitch-pine, bubbling paint and melting
rubber from tyres, purloined from the nearby scrap-yard, would fill our nostrils.

This cowering group could be split early by an angry parent suddenly appearing and
battering their off-spring as he was held by the ear. The offender would be marched off
squealing loudly, hopping as he tried to get a leg into his pants. “Don’t crack me, ma.
Don’t crack me again. Honest. I won’t come down again”. But we all knew he would
be back tomorrow.

So did his ma.

If a copper was seen approaching the gang would quickly snatch their clothing from the tow path floor and scatter in all directions.

We had never heard of a golf course and didn’t have green grass either, but we did manage to concoct a cricket pitch on the stone-flagged pavement in the street, The stumps were the base of the lone lamp-post having a convenient single-ring pattern at the ideal height of the bails. The bowling crease was a break on the stone-flagged
surface, ideally a regulation twenty-two yards away. The bat was a plank of wood with a
handle chopped out and the ball was an old and balding, once-proud tennis ball, that
hadn’t felt the tight gut of a racket in years.

If the lamp was lit we could enjoy floodlit sport well into the night but eventually the special family whistles or shouts from parents like “Charleeee . Gerrin 'ere. A’ve told youse once and won’t tell yer again”
would send players home, one at a time, till everyone had gone and the game was over. It
was bed-time, the street was quiet and the lone gas lamp flickered on into the night.

I have enjoyed my memories of my childhood and have become a little melancholy as I
think of my pals of those times.

I reflect and wonder how our lives have changed so much but realise that those long, fun
days were seen through my eyes as a child and I was as happy and as sad then as I am
now. Age and experience have taught me that there are always things to strive for
in life. I believe that to continue to strive keeps one young.

Since writing this story we have left Florida and found other, different
wonderful places. Our decision to progress from that phase of our life is no different
to leaving my childhood paradise of Bootle, which I saw as an inexperienced 7-year
old, At 83, I am lucky to be seeing new places, learning new things and meeting even more, fine friends.

Some of my very best friends have remained in Bootle and are happy with that, others are
scattered around all corners of the world where they have made new lives and done new
things. Sadly, the majority who managed to survive the Blitz have passed on anyway.

I believe ‘happy’ is the biggest word in the dictionary as all good things follow, whoever,
whatever and wherever one may be.

But we don’t forget that we all have one thing in common that will never change.

We are Bootle Bucks and so proud of it.

I had a wonderful childhood.

Thanks Bootle History for helping bring back these memories, sad or otherwise.




e. j..
PeterR
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Bunty, Very well said, Your memories have brought back all of mine which were exactly the same, at that time We thought of ourselves as "Top Notch" being able to do all the things You have described and not realising the seriousness of what was going on re: the war.
The parents of young children at that time were demented with worry if there youngsters went out of site too long ,I know mine were----playing in the street was good fun -but I came unstuck one evening -I slogged the cricket ball (a small ducky stone wrapped in rag) through a window--everyone had scattered but the word was out that I w as the culprit and the Woman was at our door when I got home about an hour later,--I got battered!!--luckily no other damage was done as the window had criss cross sticky tape on it :D
Hope You are enjoying Your tour around, We woke this morning to a coolish -2c and foggy, it will be a great day .
Regards
Peterr
Born in Spenser Street
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Ernie Jackson. (Bunty)
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HI Peter

So nice to be in contact with someone else who was there. The photos show how the debri's were created but only those who were there will remember the smells of plaster from inner walls and lathe ceilings, broken water and gas mains and burning timber. I had thought that George and I were the only Blitz survivors on this site.

My lovely wife and I crossed the Tasman Sea in 2007 and had not expected the smooth as glass seas having been warned of how rough it usually is. You have also enlightened me in that I never realised Tasmania had such variations in temperature over the seasons? I mistakenly thought it was always hot?

The cold and snowy winters here have long gone and it never seems to be as cold as it was. Maybe that is down to modern heating rather than the simple coal fires we once knew. That brings to mind the brass coal scuttle, fittings, and ever ready shovel and newspaper to boost the flame. Real toast has gone forever.
mckenna
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HI Ernie i can relate to everthing you have in your thead, at 88 its getting to bring back memories of them days, after each raid do you
remember walking up and each street looking for shrapnel, bombs, shells, ect. also going to Balliol Road watching convoys
of lorries carriing planes coming from the docks tanks guns,i did go missing one day my mother went beserk i"d only gone to the docks
to see the warships what we could see of them, that was my pass time, but there was some sad times seeing the bomb damage
hearing about your neighbours killed when the bomb fell in Olivia Street right opposite our house we had to get out and move to
Rosalind Street all the best to you ERNIE George
g mckenna
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BOBHAMO
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Image
Olivia street
bobhamo
Last edited by BOBHAMO on Sat Jul 01, 2017 8:09 am, edited 1 time in total.
bootle born altcar road
mckenna
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Bobhamo thanks for putting the picture of Olivia Street we lived right opposite on the left of the picture, my mother dad and i we were in the air raid shelter in the back yard how lucky we were sad memories the neighbours that as killed the Ellison sisters there grandad Mrs Dellany and others i
can"t remember so sad the the girls were only 6 and 8 years old George
g mckenna
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Ernie Jackson. (Bunty)
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Thanks Bob.; I too remember that well. I can't stop looking at this photo and wondering "What if"..

Amazing that George's house was only about 100 yards away yet we never met but most certainly must have walked past each other at some time. I was only seven so he would be compared as a 'big boy'.
john j connell
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Bob, boss photo of the devastation on Olivia Street, has anyone else noticed what has happened in the centre of the picture.JJC.
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BOBHAMO
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Was there prefabs John????
bobhamo
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mckenna
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John no prefabs was not built till after the war garages was built Olivia Street side , ithink the bomb in back yards of the street
most of the damage was Olivia Street side George.
g mckenna
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Ernie Jackson. (Bunty)
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Prefabs came later. As the name suggests they came on wagons already fabricated and were put up all around Bootle on the bombed sites to house the survivors. The initial plans said they were short term and would be replaced in ten years. Some were still up many years after that. Compared to our two up two down terraced they were fantastic and even had toilets and bathrooms.
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