The lost world of Whittingham Street

Gail Newsham, who wrote ‘In a League of Their Own! the Dick, Kerr Ladies 1917-1965’, has a new book out telling her own story of growing up in the terraced streets of Preston in the 1950s and 60s. Its title is ‘Made in Whittingham Street’ and it went on sale yesterday on Amazon.

Whittingham Street off Fylde Road was the Preston street where Gail was born and brought up. The whole district was cleared and redeveloped: only the memories remain along with a few photographs on Barney Smith’s Preston Digital Archive and other Flickr sites, including Stuart Dawson’s collection

Made in Whittingham Street by Gail Newsham

This is from the Amazon blurb:

‘Made in Whittingham Street is packed with memories of a working class community when life was a lot less complicated. It is a true story of an ordinary lass who grew up in the terraced streets of Preston in the 1950s and 60s and did ok. It’s a simple tale of family life, lifelong friendships, family love and family loss, with a few other events along life’s way. Courage, injustice, reconciliation.

‘It is an interesting account of an ordinary life with some extra ordinary experiences. Playing football in the street with the lads, mischievous antics, leaving school at fifteen to work in a shoe factory, playing football in a women’s team, hitch hiking to Italy, joining the Army when the IRA terror campaign was lurking in the shadows, meeting heroes, and saving the lost and forgotten history of the Dick, Kerr Ladies.’

‘Made in Whittingham Street will evoke memories of a bygone time. It will make you smile, or perhaps shed a tear, but it shows how with family love and support, anything is possible.’

Check out her Dick, Kerr Ladies website: https://www.dickkerrladies.com/

And have a look at the article by the late Paul Swarbrick on Blog Preston that includes some of her poems recalling her Preston childhood: https://www.blogpreston.co.uk/…/street-demolition…/

Here’s one of the poems that Paul included in his article:

AN ODE TO 42

Standing among the rubble of a home that used to be
Lost in an avalanche of memories that came flooding back to me.
Standing in the ruins of what seems an empty shell,
Crying for the home we once knew and loved so well.
It hurt so much to see it in its sad state of decay
With so many happy memories of my childhood yesterday.
For in this House were Santa Claus and all my childhood joys,
Waking on Christmas morning and playing with my toys.
Remembering my Mum`s love, and remembering my Dad`s care,
Alone here in this rubble, those feelings still live there.
Nursing my cuts and bruises, making better all my ill`s,
Stoking up the fire to chase away those winter chills.
The laughter and the tears, the happiness and pain,
All of these emotions came flooding back again.
But our House is lost to progress, it`s now known as a Slum,
Yet for me it was our home, with Pat, my Dad, and Mum.
And no matter where I wander, no matter what I do,
I`ll always remember with affection our days at 42.
Our times weren`t always happy, and many times we cried,
But we are a close family, and I think of that with Pride.
For the love and the affection that grew within our home,
Will be treasured in my heart where ever I may roam.
For it was more than bricks and mortar, and I can`t help but cry,
Because houses are like people: Now 42 must die.
It won`t be long before it`s gone, the Bulldozer lie`s in wait,
And soon our house will be no more. I guess it`s down to fate.
I suppose it`s evolution as the old makes way for new.
But I`m so glad we had those days, our days at 42.

Gail J Newsham
Circa 1981


Discover more from preston history

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.

Leave a Reply