Paul Godkin’s Watery Preston

Watery Preston: A local miscellany

By Paul Godkin

We shall have rain!

The little umbrella shop in Orchard Street has a sign above its window which quite rightly predicts “We shall have rain.” In 1979 the rainfall recorded at the Jeremiah Horrocks Observatory, Moor Park, was 43·8 inches compared with the annual average of 37·5 inches — a wet Year! Preston gets its fair share of the effects of the weather systems which batter, saturate or dehydrate our islands, from the drought of the glorious summer of 1976, when foundations shrank, and buildings cracked, to the floods of November 1977, when there was canoeing on the Penwortham Holme football pitches, and revellers were happy to be marooned overnight in the pub on Longton Marsh.

The town owes a lot to the damp climate, which was ideal for the cotton trade, and which gave Preston a river which in turn supported a once thriving seaport. From the town’s highest point, in New Hall Lane, near Ducie Place, to its lowest on Broadgate, thousands of tons of rainwater drain off into the Ribble via the humble sough (pronounced “suff”, a word rarely seen in print, and used by Prestonians to denote a drain), sewers, and streams.

This little book takes a light hearted look at wet Preston, past and present, in its widest sense — streams, docks, wells, bridges, ships, canals — even milkmen, teetotallers, and Red Indians.

Red Indians?…. In Preston?…

Read on!

“Men may come
and men may go….

Between St. George’s Road and Southgate lies a lush, marshy area which is an overgrown tangle of ferns, bullrushes, and brambles. Strangely out of place among the terraced houses and industrial premises, it seems to have been untouched by man for many years. It is accessible, with permission, by way of a nearby factory, and comprises an old mill lodge which has been filled in, and an existing lodge whose surface is a crust of “Jenny Green Teeth” weed. These lodges served Brookfield Mill (its very name a giveaway), which still stands, with its chimney and weaving sheds, and if one can hack a way through the incredibly dense growth, there can be found, up against the mill wall, the iron wheel controlling the sluice which gave the lodge its overflow. Deep down the hole can be seen running water, as if flowing through a culvert beneath the lodge. This is almost certainly the only part of the ancient Moorbrook which now sees the light of day. (This is an extremely dangerous area which on no account should be trespassed upon.)

The Moorbrook is one of Preston’s three long vanished natural drainage systems, and rose in Deepdale around the Holmrook Road area. Feeding it from the north was a small tributary running across St. Cuthbert’s, St. Martin’s, and St. Michael’s Roads. The Moorbrook’s valley, even today, is clearly defined. The dip in Deepdale Road in which stands the Corporation Bus Depot marks its route, and the valley can be easily traced to Garstang Road, by which time it has become steep sided.

On the north bank, at the site now occupied by the Church of the English Martyrs, was Gallows Hill, and it is said that over 50 rebels were hanged there. It must have been a bleak day on January 28th 1716 when William Arkwright, Thomas Cooper, William Butler and Roger Muncaster were executed. Viscount Kenmure and the Earl of Derwentwater were executed elsewhere for their part in the Jacobite Rebellion. Today a strong rebel theme runs through the local street names.

From Garstang Road the stream followed the line of Aqueduct (correct local pronunciation “Ackadock”) Street, but slightly to the north, leaving a trail of suitable street names: Brook, Springfield, Greenbank, Moorbrook. Passing beneath the canal in a culvert, near the now demolished aqueduct which gave the street its name, it flowed through the present builders merchants yard of Dixon Bros. Ltd (note the remains of the lime kilns in this yard, built into the bank of Ashton basin). It emptied into the Ribble at the Old Quay on Preston Marsh, near the site of today’s dock office, through the strangeley named Swansea Gutters (Swansea is thought to be a corruption of ‘Swines hey’, a throwback to times when pigs were allowed to forage on the marsh.) The nearby Swansea Terrace bears testament.

This is a pdf file of Paul’s publication:

Godkin – Watery Preston Download

The shortest of the three ancient streams was the Syke, which rose at about the junction of Queen Street and Manchester Road (formerly known as Water Street). Like the Moorbrook, its valley can easily be traced today. Early references to “snipes flitting about” would suggest that the stream ran through marshy ground, which would mean that any building taking place would be at a distance from the water on firm ground. Even today the building line can be seen to follow the valley.

Unlike its two companions the Syke was put to little industrial use, and was culverted and turned into a sewer as the town grew — a pity, since it was once the source of the town’s first public water supply.

Syke Street, Cross Street, Winckley Square, and Garden Street mark its route. Christian Road and Walton’s Parade show a marked gradient into the Syke’s valley as it flows down towards the Ribble to enter, in today’s terms, at the angle formed by Penwortham (new) bridge and Broadgate.

The last and longest of the streams worked hard for its living, and would seem to have been left unculverted longer than the others. As well as supplying several mill lodges and the ornamental pond in Lark Hill, it was used as a municipal boundary. “The bondary beginneth upon the South side at the much famed river of Ribell, at a place cal’d the washing stood, and from thence ascend up easterly, by a little rill or rivulet called the Swill-brooke, crossing the London Road, and passing upward to the head thereof, till you come over against the town of Fishwick, from which the brook parteth this burrough”

About a mile and a half in length, Swillbrook rose in the Waverley Park area of Ribbleton, and its valley provided sites for mill ponds, one of which was probably the largest in the town, in the Birley Bank area. Once across London Road, at about Salmon Street, the valley becomes very steep, and takes a rather ornamental turn as it enters the grounds of Lark Hill. Now used as a convent school, Lark Hill House was built by Samuel Horrocks, whose family name needs no introduction. Between Manchester Road and the Ribble the valley was thickly wooded, and was known as French Wood. The aforementioned “washing stood” is said to relate to the place where the local women did their washing, and Swillbrook no doubt got its name from this, the water running rapidly at this point below Avenham Walk. Alas, like its two brothers, the stream is now culverted along its entire length, and falls shamedly into the river via an outfall near the Old Tram Bridge.

Gunboats and hen cabins.

In December 1936 the country was understandably preoccupied with the abdication of King Edward, an unpleasant business which overshadowed all other news.

Preston saw the month open with a week of dense and persistent fog which blanketed the North West of England and put the Helen Craig aground for a few days in the Ribble estuary. Eventually the fog was cleared by a gale which heralded a week of storms, heavy rain, and extensive flooding. The Lancashire Daily Post reported that in one day 1⅓ inches of rain had fallen at Preston, which equated to something like 140 tons of rain per acre of land. This, of course, was by no means an excessive rainfall, but what must have been happening further up the Ribble valley was a little more ominous, and in no time at all the river was in spate, bursting its banks in places and giving rise to considerable flooding.

In those days the Old Tram Bridge was a venerable wooden structure, much less robust than today’s concrete bridge, but nevertheless accustomed to everything wind and tide could throw at it.

However the old bridge must have felt worried when it saw, coming downstream at speed, a large hen cabin being carried along by the flood. This chicken house, having little respect for tram bridges, was swept with terrific force against one of the main supports, dislodging the timbers. With one of its main piers gone, the bridge sagged noticeably. It was clearly in too dangerous a condition to be used, and a police guard was posted at each end of the bridge until a full inspection could be carried out. For a while its future hung very much in the balance, for the bridge served no real useful purpose, and would be expensive to repair. Happily it was decided to effect these repairs, and the bridge is still with us today.

Further downstream, at the shipbreaking yard of Thomas Ward Ltd. school leaver John Lancaster, of Delacey Street, no doubt happy to be in employment in those troubled times, busied himself with his workmates putting out extra moorings from the monitor “Roberts” which had recently arrived for demolition.

Even in those days monitors were outdated pieces of naval hardware. Heavily armed the ironclad vessels were essentially floating gun platforms, ugly and difficult to handle. With her huge hull “blisters”, the Roberts was wider in beam than most ships seen at Ward’s, and in this respect caught the force of the flood more. Buffeted by the swollen river and tons of debris sweeping downstream, she suddenly broke her moorings, and with John and fourteen startled colleagues on board, took off towards the estuary with the yard foreman in hot pursuit. At the Bull Nose she disappeared downstream into the murk.

Now a partially demolished runaway monitor is no place to be on a wet, stormy December day, and there was considerable concern for the safety of the Ward’s men, who were really powerless to influence the course of events. They made themselves as comfortable as possible, lighting a fire made from the ship’s timbers, and posted lookouts as they were swept seawards.

A witness ashore at the mouth of the River Douglas saw the prow of the monitor stab the bank, and the vessel slew round broadside to the stream, effectively damming the swollen river, and heeling over dangerously. Fortunately, the pressure of the backed up water eventually swept her on until, to everyone’s relief, she ground to a halt in the estuary. Luckily she failed to block the navigable channel.

Eventually the Roberts’ involuntary crew managed to get ashore little the worse for wear. It fell to the two Preston tugs Lucas and Perseverance to remove this dangerous obstacle which they eventually managed to do, causing a few hearts to flutter as their tow veered dangerously close to Lytham pier. The monitor, between tides, was beached at the Naze, Freckleton, before eventually being berthed at the Bull Nose. The tow involved the two tugs in a feat of fine seamanship, moving the hulk at night, and struggling to keep the yawing of their ungainly charge to a minimum in the narrow channel. It is interesting to note that little inconvenience was caused to traffic on the river, although there were some hair raising moments as ships, in typical Merchant Navy fashion, squeezed past the vast bulk of the Monitor in order not to miss the tide.

HMS Roberts was one of four monitors who ended their careers at Preston. She was completed rather hurriedly on the Tyne in 1915, utilising huge American built 14 inch guns capable of hurling a 1400 pound high explosive projectile almost 20 000 yards. Her designed speed was a modest 10 knots, although her service speed proved to be a little over 5 knots, and, in a head sea, rather less than a brisk walking pace. She completed the 3000 miles journey to the Dardanelles both under tow and under her own steam simultaneously, and spent 5 months at anchor bombarding Turkish shore targets. Such was the concussion of her guns that the small spotter seaplane had to be off loaded to prevent blast damage. This was the Roberts’ only taste of active service, and she returned to home waters, and after a spell on the East Coast, based at Great Yarmouth, was put to experimental use, including a mobile mooring mast for airships. She outlived her three sisters, and probably hit the headlines more — at least, locally — as a result of her down river dash at the end of her career than she did during her brief spell of wartime activity.

Travels of a tug

Up to 1967 the Chatham-based contractors John Howard and Co. Ltd. had confined their operations, in the main, to solid terrestial structures, but the award of the contract for the Royal Seaforth Dock at Liverpool resulted in their taking to the water in a big way. There was an urgent need for ready made harbour vessels, and the first to catch their eye was the Port of Preston Authority twin screw motor tug Charles Hearn. Like all Preston’s post war tugs, she was a product of the yard of Henry Robb Ltd., Leith, and dated from 1959.

On her maiden voyage to Liverpool under new ownership she went to the assistance of an old friend who, over the years, had been a frequent visitor to Preston, the small coaster Farringay, adrift in gale force winds off the Welsh coast. After arriving in the Mersey the Charles Hearn was given her new name Kinghow, and had the “Proud Preston” lamb, which had graced her funnel for so many years, painted out, and replaced by a rather stark letter H. The Kinghow knuckled down to her new duties handling barges of stone at both Anglesey and Seaforth. By 1971 the job was completed, and after being laid up for a short while, she assisted as a barge tender laying a sewer outfall in Liverpool Bay. She subsequently moved to the Clyde under contract to the Westminster Dredging Co., and then did a little towage round to Felixstowe and the Medway, followed by a foreign going visit to Rotterdam before a longer spell at Felixstowe. Temporary redundancy saw her laid up in Chatham for a while, but in 1973, following an extensive refit in Great Yarmouth, she returned to North Wales to assist in blasting and drilling operations off Anglesey.

In 1974 the tug was offered for sale, and Greek buyers had her shipped out to the Saudi Arabian port of Jeddah to work on the construction of a new dock.

The Hewitt, the senior member of Preston’s family of motor tugs, became the Astrapi, going out to Greece in 1975, whilst the John Herbert assumed Panamanian registry, and unconfirmed reports indicate that she has passed on to Kuwait. Like a spinster left on the shelf, the Frank Jamieson remains on the Ribble, seemingly under employed, and no doubt destined to move on to a new career in the not too distant future.

There was a time when Preston had one of the finest dredging fleets in the country, and, from the 1950’s, the sandpumps Savick, Astland, Ribble, Calder, and Robert Weir did sterling work sucking up silt in the Ribble channel, and dumping it in the spoil grounds around the corner off the Fylde coast — a never ending struggle. Of these, only the Robert Weir is still in service, her four relatives having been scrapped, three in Spain and one in South Wales.

Unlike some port authorities, who tend to give their harbour craft numbers, not names, it is to the credit of Preston Corporation that most of their vessels have been named after local streams or town councillors. Strangely, since ships are usually referred to in the feminine, none appears to have been named after a woman. Perhaps the association with a grab barge or bucket dredger would be deemed uncomplimentary!

Things to come

During the 1980’s the Preston riverside scene will undergo almost as much change as it did in the 1880’s, when the construction of the dock really got under way. The redevelopment of the dock (if it does close) and power station sites will result in the biggest change, and it is vital that whatever transpires is done tastefully and in keeping with the present “theme”.

Really there are few rivers in the industrial north with such a pleasing aspect as the Ribble. From beautiful Horseshoe Bend, through Cuerdale and Fishwick, past Walton le Dale, Avenham and Miller parks, and to Penwortham bridge, the river bank is hardly built upon, and the stream meanders through its thickly wooded valley, farmland and parkland. Admittedly it becomes rather industrial in its tidal reaches, but it is this which will undergo the most change in the next decade.

As things stand, Preston Dock will close in March 1982. There can be no doubt that it is a sin and a shame to put an end to such a fine undertaking, but the ratepayers’ “Party of Caution”, the opponents of the dock scheme a hundred years ago, have been proved right in the end, with the dock imposing a crippling burden on the town’s finances.

Few people, Prestonians included, think of Preston as a port. It really has its identity in cotton manufacturing and engineering. Over the years few vessels have carried its name on their sterns as a port of registry (other than the municipally owned tugs and dredgers), and not many have been operated by Preston ship owners. Indeed, Prestonians do not have the outlook of the inhabitants of a sea port.

In his fine book “A History of the Ribble Navigation” James Barron makes reference to Preston Guilds. In the processions of 1902, nothing was done to indicate that the town had a dock, and in 1922 it was only a last minute decision that led to a couple of Port of Preston exhibits being in the Trades procession. At the time of writing (1938) Barron confidently predicted that the 1942 Guild (not knowing that it would not take place because of the war) when the dock would have been opened for 50 years, would show it in a better light, although he doubted that its ill repute would have been completely lived down. He felt that the 1962 Guild would see the port receive full recognition. In fact he was not far wrong, for it was at about this time that the dock had its hey day, having pioneered the now familiar “roll on, roll off” service. Little did he know that by the “1982 Guild” the port would be closed.

The closure of a dock is no straightforward matter, requiring an Act of Parliament. Nor is it a cheap affair. Once the decision to cease dredging has been made, and the last ship has sailed, the question of what to do with such a large dock estate and a huge basin, remains. Empty out the water (won’t it be interesting to see what lies in the ooze) and you are left with a 45 acre hole — in refuse tipping terms, worth a fortune.

Finding suitable tipping sites is a constant headache for local authorities, and here would be an excellent site. It has been calculated that it would take twenty years to fill it at today’s tipping rate. Whatever is used to fill it in, it will be a huge job, and, even when filled it will have to be given time to settle before any building could take place.

Without dredging the Ribble channel would quickly silt up, but not sufficiently to prevent pleasure craft making the 14 mile journey from Nelson Buoy in the estuary to the Bull Nose at high water. The dock — or perhaps the tidal basin — has excellent potential as a marina. With improved leisure facilities, and perhaps a riverside pub, it would be a very attractive proposition. One only has to look at Glasson to see that.

As well as providing berths for yachts arriving from salt water, there would be those craft emerging from the Leeds-Liverpool canal at Tarleton, and, who knows, from the Lancaster canal.

At the moment, to travel the half mile from Ashton Basin, off Tulketh Brow, to Preston Dock by boat would necessitate a long canal journey north to Glasson to join the Lune estuary, and a sea journey down the Fylde Coast and up the Ribble. This would be an extremely long haul, and possibly a dangerous one for weekend sailors.

It is a pity that there is no way out of the Lancaster canal other than at Glasson. To link it with the Leeds-Liverpool canal would open up thousands of miles of inland waterways to the otherwise land locked Lancaster canal craft, as well as allowing access to “foreigners” to journey up to southern Lakeland.

There is a bold and imaginative plan — admittedly little more than a pipe dream at the moment — being hatched by the Lancaster Canal Trust, which, if it ever comes to fruition, would allow canal enthusiasts to sail by inland waterway from Carnforth to London. It has been proposed that a lock or locks be built at Ingol to connect the canal with Savick Brook, which could be widened and deepened to allow boats to make the short journey to the Ribble. By sailing west, and up the River Douglas, access could be gained at Tarleton to the Leeds-Liverpool canal and the entire network of canals in England and Wales. Apart from the construction of the locks, and the heightening of a few minor bridges, all that is lacking are the funds to get the scheme under way. One day, who knows….

Preston’s now redundant power station has been part of the Penwortham riverside scene since 1925, when the first phase of the building was completed. Its four massive chimneys dominate the skyline, but somehow don’t really detract from the beauty of the nearby thickly wooded Castle Hill. It has the distinction of having the highest and most seaward bridge on the Ribble, a fine piece of industrial architecture linking the power station with the dock estate, where coal to fuel its furnaces was delivered. The bridge was, in fact, a glorified conveyor belt.

Unlike most inland power stations, ours had no cooling towers. Deep beneath the Ribble were two tunnels, used to draw water from the dock for cooling purposes. The return of warm water to the dock, plus regular shipping activity, meant that even in the most severe winter weather, the dock never froze over completely. The lack of both these led to the basin freezing for the first time in the bad weather of early 1979.

Demolition is now well under way, and it is reported that the contractor intends to add a touch of style to the job. A raffle will be held, the winner being the one who will press the plunger to blow up the chimneys. Eventually the 41 acre site will be ready for redevelopment.

So, as the power station bridge comes down, another may one day soon go up — that which would carry the proposed Penwortham by pass across the river, and do little to enhance the looks of the Holme.

And what of the river? For years suggestions have been made to build a weir to enable boating to take place at Avenham Park, much the same as at Chester. Perhaps now would be a good time to reconsider. Certainly, there will be plenty of scope for the planners along the tidal reaches of the Ribble over the next few years. Let us hope that the riverside developments can be kept in harmony with the rest of the river in Preston.

Odds and Ends

Did you know that….

….Chain Caul Road, on the dock estate, takes its name from the days before the dock was opened, when the building of cauls on the river was something of a science. A caul was a bank or groyne jutting out into the river in an attempt to direct the flow of water into a navigable channel. Eddies created by the caul would also deepen the channel by their scouring action. There was once a great profusion of cauls on both banks of the river, and each had its name, Chain caul being named after the nearby Chain House, which stood on the edge of Ashton Marsh.

….on Broadgate, opposite the end of Meath Road, there stands on the grass verge a hefty chunk of masonry which was the first milestone on the road from Preston to Liverpool. Near it, on the pavement, snug against the river wall, is a smaller stone engraved “LQ EB 1844”. This marked the Eastern Boundary of the Legal Quays of the Port of Preston customs area, set up in 1844.

….T.S. Galloway, the wooden building which serves as the HQ of Preston Sea Cadet Corps, dates from the 1914-18 war, when it served as a hospital on Moor Park.

Part of the riverside scene soon to disappear — the coal conveyor bridge linking the dock estate with the power station. 84 feet above the high water mark, and with a span of 340 feet across the river, it was built in 1946-7 to replace a bucket conveyor system dating from 1925. On the far (Penwortham) side of the river can be seen two of the four power station chimneys. Cooling water was taken from and returned to the dock via two 6½ feet diameter tunnels 1050 and 1700 feet in length.

A photograph taken from Penwortham Hill showing flooded water courses on the Holme. The proposed Penwortham by pass would cut across this area

Cockle Dick and Joseph.

Young Joe Livesey had a harsh upbringing. Orphaned by the time he was seven, he worked with his uncle and grandfather as a hand loom weaver in the cellar of their house in Walton le Dale, a cellar which frequently flooded when the Ribble, a stone’s throw away, was in spate, and where “the mortar never hardened, the plaster never set.” It was from these humble beginnings that Joseph Livesey rose, founding a movement which, in its day, had an enormous following, and adding a strange new word to the dictionary.

The Preston of 150 years ago was essentially a beer drinking town, a place of soot blackened mills and terraces and a soaring population — all in all, a boom town of the Industrial Revolution. Some turned towards the Church for recreation, many more towards the pub.

In 1816 the family moved to Preston, and Joseph set up in a small way as a cheese merchant, trading on the markets in Preston and the surrounding towns. At this point he held no strong views on alcohol, with many a deal being sealed by a drink. With the passage of time business improved, and he became involved in most good causes in the town, eventually concentrating upon the drinking problems of poor people — he was, in fact, an early voluntary social worker.

May 1832 saw the Preston Temperance Society begin holding its meetings in the Cockpit, in Stoneygate, and it was here that the diminutive Dickie Turner coined the word “Teetotal”. Dickie was a plasterer from Bilsborough, more skilled at getting plastered than plastering, who held a variety of short term jobs over the years, including mill hand and fish hawker (giving rise to his nickname Cockle Dick). What Dickie lacked in height he made up in mouth, and although illiterate, had a natural spirited gift of the gab which made him a popular speaker. Once, when stuck for a word, he blurted out “tee tee total abstinence” amid roars of approval, and the name stuck.

The Pledge — “We agree to abstain from all liquors of an intoxicating quality whether ale, porter, wine, or ardent spirits, except as medicine” — was initially signed by seven men, some of whom later lost interest, and two of whom actually broke it.

Teetotalism certainly did Joseph Livesey no harm, for he was 90 years old when he died in 1884, having fathered 13 children. Dickie Turner, on the other hand, died at the age of 56 shortly after returning from London, having walked there to attend a Temperance Convention.

[The book contains the following captions here for photographs that do not appear in the book:
Opposite:
Above: In the foreground, borings from the artesian wells lie neatly in the grass at Red Scar. Courtauld’s chimneys dominate the skyline.
Below: The north bank of the Ribble looking seaward from the dock entrance. The remains of the slipways of the yard which built ferro-concrete vessels in the 1914-18 war can be seen.]

Bathing in Preston

It is interesting to note that there are now few tin baths hung on nails in the back yards of Preston. Whilst these bath tubs were regularly deposited on the rug in front of the back kitchen fire, and topped up from coppers and kettles, there were alternative ways of keeping clean.

The spring at Spa Brow once fed a thriving bathing centre its origins being lost in the mists of time. Spa bath, square in shape, and with a flagged bottom, was filled with very cold water from the spring, and was a popular place in summer. “There is every accommodation for ladies and gentlemen to visit this place of Hygeia, such as bathing gowns etc., and separate apartments for both sexes.” The bath was done away with in the 1860’s. Cold Bath Street, some distance away in the Maudland / Fylde Road area, may have been named such because it lay, at one time, on the very edge of the town near the footpath which led across the fields down to the spa. A rival to this bath existed in Avenham Park, and boasted both hot and cold public baths, “encompassed by neat flower gardens.”

An interesting variation on the bathing theme was a floating bath for the River Ribble. It was proposed to moor a barge-like vessel 84 feet in length by 22 feet in beam with the holds enlarged to form a swimming bath 17 feet by 55. The bath was apparently filled with river water via a trunking in the stern until it sank the vessel to a suitable depth to permit swimming, the adjoining cabins serving as changing rooms. Whether or not these plans ever came to fruition, or, if they did, where the bath was moored is not clear.

Saul Street has long been synonymous with bathing — since 1851, in fact, when the public baths and wash houses were opened. The wash houses were grossly under used, and closed in 1870. The swimming facilities consisted of two pools, the smaller of which was reserved for ladies on certain days. Plans for the present Saul Street baths were first considered by the Corporation in 1906, the scheme being approved 8 years later, and work on the foundations had actually commenced when World War One called a halt. The original baths continued functioning with great difficulty, nowhere near meeting the demands of the public, and it was in 1934, not before time, that construction on the new baths was continued, Thomas Croft and Sons being the main contractor. On October 29th, 1936, the baths were at last opened, and as well as having two pools, sported 40 slipper baths (many if not most houses were still without bathrooms), a card or whist room (!), and Zotofoam baths (?). One innovation was that the big plunge could be covered over in winter and used for meetings, dances etc., being known as the Queen’s Hall.

Should something a little more exotic than a Zotofoam bath (what on earth was this?) be required, the Miller Arcade had a most sumptuous suite of Turkish baths, where, for 3/6 a go, weight watchers could sweat it out. Nothing remains now, save the most splendidly ornate doorway in Lancaster Road opposite the Tea Bar, where surely the finest butties in the country are on sale.

The Miller Arcade, an ornate piece of Victorian architecture, was the brain child of a local dentist, Nathaniel Miller, who encouraged architects to submit plans by offering handsome cash prizes. A shopping arcade really was something new, and was a glamorous showpiece at the time of its opening. As well as its suite of Turkish baths, the arcade housed shops, offices, a dance hall, a hotel, and a huge underground cold store.

In 1957 new owners took over the building at a time when many shopkeepers were moving into the new shopping precinct. In the 60’s it entered a rather seedy, run down period, and the buses which once used it as a terminus deserted it for the new bus station. However it was given a face lift and a new lease of life in the early 70’s, and was restored to its former glory.

Preston Borough Council currently run two open air swimming pools which are open for a short summer season each year. The futures of these baths at Haslam and Waverley Parks are very much in doubt. Both have been horribly vandalised, and the cost of repairs and staffing far exceeds the modest seasonal income. The open air pool on Moor Park was removed some time ago. Indeed, a question mark hangs over Saul Street, and it seems likely that facilities there may soon cease to exist.

Today’s fine pools at the Fulwood Leisure Centre and Leyland seem far removed from the freezing cold spa, the public wash houses, and the redundant barge.

Shipbuilding, Shipbreaking.

In the Harris Museum, almost every schoolboy visitor has gazed with awe, firstly at the skulls, and secondly at the blackened timbers of the dug-out boats which were unearthed during the excavation of the river diversion at Penwortham. These ancient craft were discovered to the east of Castle Hill (adjacent to St. Mary’s church) about a dozen feet below the surface and 130 feet from the river, and probably date from the Bronze Age (Traces of a lake dwelling — a house built above the water, on piles — were also found in the nearby dock excavations.) The primitive man who, with fire and axe, hollowed out those oak logs was no doubt unaware that he was founding a shipbuilding industry which was to reach its peak in the mid-late 19th. century.

Surprisingly, little appears to be known about shipbuilding on the Ribble at Preston. Most of it took place after the invention of the camera, but not much seems to have been recorded. What details the writer has been able to unearth are as follows:

May 23rd. 1834. “The new steamer, called the Enterprise, was launched in the yard directly at the bottom of Fishergate. This is the first steamer built and launched at Preston.”

No doubt wooden sailing ships had also been built previously.

1839. A dredger was required to ease the problems of the silting up of the river. A suitable ready made vessel could not be found, and so one was built — again, in the yard at “the foot of Fishergate Lane”, named as that of Messrs. Speakman. She was named “Robert Stevenson” after the Ribble engineer at that time. A wooden hulled steam bucket dredger, she was fitted out with her machinery — built in Leith — at the Old Quay, and was put to work near the Willows (the very same building which today serves as a continuation hospital), assisted by the steam tug Lily, which tended the barges into which the Robert Stevenson discharged her spoil.

There are indications that in 1855, Thomas Smith, shipbuilder, constructed a small graving dock near the Old Quay, with every facility for both ship repairing and building. At about the same time Messrs. Ogle and Robinson commenced iron shipbuilding there.

1857 saw something of a slump in traffic on the river, although the shipyards at Preston had healthy order books. In 1861 there was a general depression, and iron shipbuilding at Preston was discontinued, only to be resumed the following year.

In 1863 the names of Moss and Co. and Mackern were prominent at Ashton Quay, and it was the latter who launched the ill fated paddle steamer Night Hawk. The Preston Guardian reported:

“Launch of an Iron Ship

The iron paddle steamer Night Hawk was launched from Messrs. Mackern’s yard on the Marsh. It was built for Mr. M. I. Wilson of Liverpool. The keel was laid only 3 months ago, and Mackern’s deserve credit for a quick job. 255 feet overall, 37 feet in beam, she was launched fully rigged by Miss Ellis, and will be towed to Liverpool for engining. Rumour has it that, because of her speed, size, and low profile, she will be employed as a blockade runner. Mackern’s, who have 50 boiler makers at their yard, have many other ships on the stocks, all of iron.”

As it transpired the rumour was correct. The American Civil War had Lancashire in the grip of the Cotton Famine, and the southern cotton exporting ports of America were being blockaded by ships of the Federal Navy. On September 29th. 1864, after bunkering at Nassau on what was probably her maiden voyage, the Night Hawk was forced aground by the USS Niphon, boarded, and set ablaze whilst trying to run the blockade and enter the port of Wilmington, North Carolina. It was reported that the Night Hawk’s crew were butchered at the hands of the Federal Navy, although this was later found to be incorrect. It was, however, a violent end to this Ribble-built steamer on her first and last voyage.

We have digressed, and must return from the deep south to the Ribble mud. The Preston Iron Shipbuilding Company had a strike in July 1866, which, it was reported, resulted in 450 men being laid off. It was rumoured that a “sweetener” (the gift of a yacht) to the Pasha of Egypt had not produced the expected shipbuilding orders for the P.I.S. Co., although it was likely that financial problems were the root cause of the stoppage. At the time the yard had 4 vessels (2 for the Brazilian Government, 2 for Liverpool owners) on the stocks.

The aforementioned yard “at the foot of Fishergate Lane”, which no one seems prepared to name, was probably on the site of the Sea Cadet Corps H.Q. “T.S. Galloway” on Strand Road. The writer will go out on a limb and name it as the yard of Allsup and Co. (which later became the Caledonian Engineering and Shipbuilding Co. Ltd) which produced tugs, coasters, Mersey ferries, lightships, and many barges for the Ribble Navigation. Could this be the same Allsups who made many of the old lamp posts still around the town, not to mention the supporting pillars for the covered market.

The most visible remains of a Preston shipyard lie on the north bank of the river next to the dock entrance. In the 1914-18 war the firm of Hughes and Stirling set up to build ferro concrete vessels to an order for the Shipping Controller. Two large engineless barges, named Cretemanor and Cretemoor, of about 700 tons gross, were successfully launched, although details of their careers are not known to the writer. Construction of two further concrete barges was begun, but these were never completed, and remained on the stocks for some time until being demolished. The yard was subsequently taken over by the Ritchie Concrete Engineering and Shipbuilding Company, who launched the small concrete coaster Burscough (a ship destined to end her days as the foundations of a jetty in the Isle of Man) for Henry Tyrer Ltd., Preston.

Today the remains of the slipways and the barges can still be found, and it is coincidental that some 200 yards inland from there lie the remnants of a 1970’s concrete shipyard, that of Steelcrete Marine Ltd., who appear to have specialized in pleasure craft — yachts, canal cruisers etc., the fine hulls of which, in 1980, lie high, dry, and abandoned amid the weeds, the firm no longer being in production in Preston.

Most of the shipyards were obliterated when the new river diversion was completed, and the old river bed filled in, but there were plans to build two graving docks off the new dock basin for ship repairing. These, however, failed to materialise. The two recesses in the south west corner of the main basin mark the spots where the entrances to these docks would have been.

In summary it would appear that, whilst there was considerable shipbuilding activity on our river at Preston at one time, there was little success on the part of most yards, the most long lasting probably being Allsups.

Transatlantic liners and tankers, barges and battleships — all have ended their careers in the mud alongside New Diversion Quay, Preston, at the shipbreaking yard of Thomas W. Ward Ltd. and it is always sad to see a once fine vessel, its livery streaked with rust, being dismembered by apparently unconcerned workmen.

By its very nature shipbreaking is a dirty, dangerous job, and a highly skilled one at that, and over the years Wards have seen off a variety of vessels which perhaps reappeared as knives and forks, razor blades, or even as plating for new ships.

In addition to the yard at Preston, there was once much ship breaking activity at Morecambe and Barrow, with the bigger jobs going to Inverkeithing, on the Firth of Forth, or Briton Ferry, in South Wales. For every big ship — a liner, or one of the Navy’s capital ships — handled by the shipbreakers, there are many smaller ones which sail the seas unhonoured and unsung, all of which are destined to end up eventually at the breaker’s yard. It was, in the main, these latter ships which ended their days on the Ribble.

Wards began operations at Preston in 1894, and the first vessel to arrive was the Liverpool registered steamer Sesostris, which had been launched in Belfast 30 years previously. Owned by the Moss Steamship Company, she latterly traded to the Black Sea and Mediterranean areas.

The most locally famous ship scrapped at Preston gave her name to a ballroom. The White Star liner Adriatic, launched in 1872, arrived in the Ribble in 1899. Of a modest 3888 tons gross, she was capable of carrying 900 passengers plus crew, probably over a thousand souls all told. For a while she held the record for the westbound Atlantic crossing, and had a nasty habit of running down and sinking sailing vessels. She was one of the first ships to have gas lighting, although this was not a success because of leaks caused by the working of the vessel in a seaway. The fine wooden panels from her staterooms were used to form the decor of the Adriatic Ballroom (known colloquially as the “A.D.”) adding a strange touch of the sea to land locked Lancaster Road.

One of the early arrivals was the Cunarder British Queen, a 49 year old veteran of the Mediterranean trade, and more in character with the Cunard image were the twin funnelled liners Servia and Etruria, of 7400 and 8120 gross tons respectively. The Etruria was a particularly fine ship designed for quick conversion into an auxiliary cruiser, one requirement being the ability to maintain 18 knots for 16 days.

Records show that the ferro concrete vessel Burscough arrived at Ward’s in 1924. Like HMS Roberts, she broke her moorings and was swept down river until being rescued by a tug and returned to her berth. A concrete coaster would be of little value to a scrapyard, and she was sold to become a jetty — or part of one. This 300 tons lump of hardcore was towed to the Point of Ayre in the Isle of Man, beached in the appropriate place, and concreted in.

The largest merchant ship dismantled at Preston was the Port Sydney, of over 9000 tons gross, and without doubt the strangest was the French “roller” ship Ernest Bazin, a freak and a failure. Named after her designer, this peculiar vessel consisted of a rectangular hull 130 feet x 40 feet upon which rested the machinery, bridge, boilers, and crew and passenger accommodation. She was propelled by six rollers, each 32 feet in diameter and 10 feet wide. The theory was that these rotating rollers would travel over water with little friction, thus saving power, increasing speed (optimistically forecast at 30 knots), improving stability, and eliminating sea sickness. Her trials were a disaster, and she never operated on the cross channel service she was designed for. This bizarre ship on wheels ended up on the Ribble at Ward’s in 1900, 4 years after her launch.

HMS Dominion, Dreadnought, Hindustan, Inflexible, Queen, and Sans Pareil were all British Battleships scrapped at Preston. Most were too large to safely negotiate the Ribble, and were partially dismantled elsewhere first.

Shipbreaking would appear to be an unprofitable business in this country now, with much of the world’s tonnage going to the Far East. Certainly shipbreaking on the Ribble seems to have ended. The last ship to arrive at Ward’s was the Aberdeen trawler Ellena, dating from 1921, in 1970 although the larger ship which arrived before her, Everard’s coaster Superiority, was probably the last to complete demolition. Ward’s are still very much in business in the scrap metal line and at the time of writing one last vessel, the ill fated motor coaster Druid lies forlornly alongside awaiting her fate.

It may be recalled that the Druid capsized and sank in the Ribble estuary in August 1962 whilst inward bound in ballast for Preston, with the loss of several crew members. She was later refloated and bought by the Ribble undertaking for use as a navigation barge at Lytham, replacing the ancient ex tug Musgrave, which was also in the habit of sinking at her moorings. It would now appear that the Druid carried on this tradition of sinking, and it may be that she will turn out to be the last last ship scrapped at Ward’s, Preston.

Bridges across the Ribble

It may come as a bit of a surprise if one counts the various bridges which cross the river in and around Preston. There are, in fact, nine if the Power Station bridge is included. The motorway bridge at Samlesbury is a magnificent structure which carries what was the country’s first length of motorway (then known as the Preston bypass) and is a tribute to the superb job of work carried out by the then County Bridgemaster, Mr. James Drake. Strangely, stuck out there by the Tickled Trout, it does not seem part of Preston’s heritage, although it undoubtedly is.

If the M6 bridge is the town’s youngest, its neighbour next door but one, Walton Bridge, marks the site of the oldest. On August 17th 1648 Oliver Cromwell, with a devastated Preston behind him, spent the night at the Unicorn Inn, Walton le Dale. He had routed the Royalists on Ribbleton Moor (in present day terms, opposite Courtauld’s), and the King’s men had fought a fierce rearguard action with a view to making a stand at Walton bridge — but to no avail. They retreated through Walton and over the Darwen, at which point darkness closed in and called a halt to the proceedings.

A print depicting this bridge and the fierce struggle for it shows it as having five rather pointed arches. It lay a little downstream of the present bridge, and was one of the earliest to be built in the North West. Exactly when it was erected is not clear, although there is evidence to indicate that there was a bridge across the Ribble in the 1200’s (surely not the same that Cromwell fought for.)

This part of the river had been a popular crossing place even in Roman times, when there was a fortlet on Walton Flats, a small alluvial plain between the Darwen (which in those days did not follow its present course, but meandered in wide sweeps across the Flats) and the Ribble. For many years Walton bridge was the only one across the river at Preston, but by the end of the 18th. century it had fallen into poor repair, and was demolished when the present three arched bridge (or at least the eastern side of it) was built in 1779-1781. For some reason a portion of one of the central piers was allowed to remain as a relic, being eventually removed some 85 years later by a landowner who felt it was diverting the current against the embankment of his property and weakening it. The unauthorised demolition of this historical relic caused an understandable public outcry at the time. But why was the bridge so far away from the line of the present main road? The answer is that the bridge that Cromwell fought for lay at the bottom of the road down Walton Brow a little to the west of today’s A6, and no doubt followed the most convenient route that the local geography allowed.

The southern approach to Preston via the A6 gives a quite pleasing first impression of the town, with the athletics track on one side of the road, and green grassy slopes on the other. Whilst it is true to say that the latter affords plenty of scope for a bit of imaginative landscaping and planting, it is only fair to recall the not too distant past when most of the adjacent area comprised a vast corporation rubbish dump.

The Old Tram Bridge

No doubt, even when this bridge was new in 1802, it was called old. It was designed as a temporary measure to carry the tramway linking the southern end of the Preston-Kendal canal and the cut of the Leeds-Liverpool canal at Walton Summit across the river pending the building of an aqueduct to carry the canal across the Ribble valley. Trams, in this context, were small wooden waggons mounted on metal wheels, and were horse drawn. The only known painting depicting a tram “train” at Preston shows two horses hitched one behind the other pulling four waggons. They were far removed from the beloved Blackpool Promenade variety. Various eminent tramway engineers existed at that time, and the Canal Company favoured the design of Benjamin Outram. The system became known as the Outram Way, which was no doubt easily and conveniently corrupted to “Owd Tram Way”, hence today’s Old Tram Bridge.

The bridge was of a trestle construction, much the same as it is today, but made of wood, not concrete. Photographs and paintings show it to have had a rather rickety, dilapidated appearance. On the Preston side, about a quarter of the way out along the bridge, was an open, roofed structure which no doubt housed some form of winding gear to help control the winching of the trams up and down the Avenham incline.

During the last war, as an anti invasion precaution, most of the wooden decking of the bridge was removed, leaving only a narrow catwalk. (Other wartime relics in the form of anti tank blocks, concrete cylinders of about dustbin size, can be seen strengthening the river banks in the vicinity of the bridge.)

Since the war the bridge has been rebuilt in concrete, and is a strong durable structure. It is a credit to the authorities that they chose to preserve the bridge that carried the town’s first railway, when the simple solution would have been to demolish it.

As for the aqueduct…. we’re still waiting.

Penwortham old bridge

Closed to all but pedestrians and cyclists, the old bridge at Penwortham has a great old world charm about it, with its narrow humped back, cobbles, and weatherworn stone. By leaning on the parapet in one of the V shaped refuges on the bridge, and looking downstream, one can see beneath, in the water, masonry from the first attempt to cross the river in 1755. This structure, like the present one, had five arches, but, little over a year after its opening, had its centre arch collapse, with the others following soon afterwards. The bridge was rebuilt four years later, and tolls were enforced from time to time as maintenance was required. With the one at Walton, it afforded the only bridge access to Preston.

In many ways, this was not a convenient place to bridge the river. Anyone travelling to or from “higher” Penwortham had to make a detour of about ¾ mile along Leyland Road and Broadgate. Admittedly the red sandstone providen an excellent foundation for the piers, and to cross the Holme at the foot of Fishergate Hill would have required two bridges, since it was still an island. Even when the old bridge was being built there were proposals to build the present day road bridge, but it was not until 1912 that it was brought to fruition.

With the Bridge Inn on the Penwortham side, it was perhaps appropriate that a public toilet be provided on the other side…. and a most precarious position it had too! It was housed in a cave-like opening half way down the river wall, and was reached by negotiating a steep flight of stone steps. Visiting it on a dark night after closing time, with the local brew taking effect, must have been a very risky business, and it is perhaps not surprising that the “cave” has been bricked up, and the steps made inaccessible.

Brockholes Bridge

….or to give it its better known name, the Ha’penny Bridge, was originally a wooden structure erected in 1824 to carry the Preston-Blackburn road. Prone to damage by floodwater, it was replaced by the present stone bridge in 1861. A toll of one halfpenny was levied on anyone crossing the bridge, hence its rather quaint popular name.

Railway bridges.

The North Union bridge is the only one across the Ribble at Preston which today actually carries a railway. It has 5 arches, each of a hundred and twenty feet span, and is altogether a fine piece of engineering dating from 1838. Access to Miller Park from the South Meadow Lane area is via its “dry” northern arch, which has magnificent echo properties.

Its neighbour, the East Lancashire Railway bridge, is of interest mainly because of its embankment across the Ribble valley. Although it appears no different from any other embankment, it originally comprised 53 brick arches, many of which apparently rested on poor foundations. To strengthen the structure generally, the present embankment was built around the arches, and now gives no indication of what lies beneath.

Preston Corporation, with plans to turn the southern riverside into a park, opposed the building of the bridge, although by way of compromise the railway company agreed to plant ornamental trees and shrubs to mask it, and incorporate a footway into the bridge. The line is no longer in use, and the metals have been removed.

Adjacent to Penwortham old bridge today is a relic of the old West Lancashire railway. The stone piers of the bridge which once carried the old Preston-Southport line are all that remain of the iron girdered structure. It was built in 1882, and served the West Lancs. station, whose demolition in the late 1970’s made Fishergate Hill all the poorer.

Aristocratic languor

The morning of Saturday June 25th 1892 dawned bright and shiny and although hot by mid morning, there were many dark threatening rain clouds about. Preston’s new Albert Edward dock was ready for its official opening. His Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh had arrived on Friday evening, staying overnight in the town, and well before he drove down to the dock on Saturday morning the streets were lined with crowds and decorated with flags and banners in the finest Preston tradition.

Like the best schemes of mice and men, things went slightly wrong. The tide saw fit to be some fifteen minutes late in reaching a level which would allow the lock gates to be opened, and the gate chosen for the ceremony refused to function. Amid great municipal fluster the Duke was hustled to the ceremonial stand-by gate which, to everyone’s relief, worked perfectly, whereupon the official party walked to the Bull Nose to board the steam yacht Aline, owned by the Commodore of the Mersey Yacht Club, and kindly put at the disposal of the dock authority.

With the Duke on the open bridge, the Aline declared the dock open by steaming through a blue ribbon stretched across the locks, and sailed around the main basin.

Tied up in the tidal basin, like mongrels at Cruft’s, were the working Merchant Navy vessels, who had been arranged in a strict pecking order to form the concourse behind the Aline. In the best M.N. fashion the official line up was completely ignored, and after some no doubt hair raising manoeuvring and jostling for position the S.S. Hebe claimed the honour of being the first vessel to enter the dock with a full cargo (she was carrying cement.)

The other vessels were the steamer Balneil (light), Owain Tudor (general cargo), Lady Alice Kenlis, Surprise and Swift (both owned by Carr’s of Carlisle), and, carrying a cargo of general provisions for the family grocers E.H. Booth and Co., came the Lady Louise. Bringing up the rear was a flotilla of private pleasure craft.

As the Aline broke the ribbon, a salute was fired by the assembled artillery, the ships sounded their sirens, the crowds cheered, and amid all this the band of the Loyal Regiment tried to make itself heard.

It is interesting to note the comments of the press at the time. Whilst it was reported that, en route to the dock there was plenty of patriotic cheering, there was little that was enthusiastic or sustained as the Aline steamed round the basin. This was attributed to the “aristocratic languor which permeates everyone in Preston, from the merchant prince to the mill hand.”

After disembarking in the basin the party retired to the Public Hall for luncheon, and by 3 pm the Duke was on his way home by train. The weather, which had held for the opening ceremony, finally broke, and, sadly, washed out the Rose Festival planned for the afternoon. The rain, however, did little to prevent Mr. Henry Tyrer (whose shipbrokers offices still exist today on the dock) from arranging the discharge of the E.H. Booth cargo, and the 40 odd tons of groceries were unloaded and stored in a dockside warehouse in little less than two hours.

Wells around the town

Without a plentiful water supply, a town like Preston could not have developed. Elsewhere in these pages reference is made to “The Folly”, the town’s first public water supply in the accepted sense, but prior to that, there were many wells, both public and private. The earliest recorded public well in Preston was on the market square, and it was probably this which was later converted to a pump sited near the Fish Stones on the market’s north west corner. Running down Friargate was an open sewer, which no doubt carried away surplus water from the well, connecting with another sewer near Lune Street to drain into the low lying area now occupied by the Public Hall — in other words, a cesspool. The year 1664 saw another well sunk in Church Street, near the junction with Manchester Road (suitably known as Water Street in those days). Almost two centuries later it was accidentally unearthed by workmen laying, by coincidence, a new water main. Vault like in form, it was a substantial stone structure six feet deep, and measuring twelve feet by nine. It was thought to have been served by the spring which fed the Syke, and was brim full of water when discovered. Another town centre well lay at the bottom of the strangely named Main Sprit Weind, and the water from the well in Water Lane was so good that it was carted into town and sold.

Many wells and springs were reputed to have medicinal qualities. Spa well, situated near the Cheviot Street / Tweed Street area was said to have “strengthening” properties. One in Avenham Park was ideal (so it was said) for curing eye disorders, although, because of the impurity of the water it probably caused more problems than it cured. Irish people particularly favoured water from St. Mary’s well, Penwortham, and those suffering from consumption would do well to drink from the well at Boilton spa, in Moor Nook. This, a large trough, was fed by water from the breast of Boilton Wood (in today’s terms, adjacent to Grange Park playing fields.) A human head was carved in the stonework, and through its mouth poured the water. It was eventually done away with, and the ornamental stone work removed to nearby Red Scar. Perhaps, somewhere, that stone head still exists today.

Despite the fact that the town was once riddled with wells, only one remains today. Children, after a ramble in Squire Anderton’s wood on a hot day, invariably visit Our Lady’s Well, Fernyhalgh (the very name is refreshing) to slake their thirsts. This old well is very picturesque and ornamental, and altogether a cool mossy place into which cold water flows.

It may be that the remains of St. Mary’s Well, at Penwortham, can still be found. A drawing of this well by Beattie in 1894 shows an overgrown bank with steps leading down — presumably from the road — to five stone steps leading, in turn, to a stone trough or sump, the whole being fed with water from a spout in the bank side. Today, in the field adjacent to Penwortham Hill, opposite the War Memorial, on almost the exact site of the well, can be found a masonry filled depression overgrown with nettles and thistles. Whilst this is some way from the embankment, it must be remembered that Penwortham Hill has undergone vast alterations since the war. Could this be the old well?

The Fishwick area had its fair share of springs, and those lying in the Ribble valley below the “bonk” (Brockholes View) had particularly hard water. Even today the “Lawnie” (Fishwick Bottoms) is rich in springs.

The last well to go was the once famous Spa well, near the Water Lane end of the British Aerospace factory. In the 1860’s, when the North of England Railway Carriage and Iron Company’s works were built, the water from the Spa was collected in a pit for use in the firm’s boilers, but it was found to be too hard for that purpose.

Nowadays there is considerable abstraction of water from wells, all of the artesian variety. Courtauld’s huge factory at Red Scar (sadly, at the time of writing, facing almost inevitable closure) has five boreholes on the site, four of which are about 800 feet deep, and one 1042 feet deep (this goes down to a depth equivalent to 3 Courtauld’s factory chimneys!) They were all sunk between 1935-38, and are of two feet diameter (the cores from these borings litter the fields at Red Scar, and even act as improvised seats on the nearby Grange Park playing fields). After going down through some 112 feet of clay and congealed ballast, the boreholes encounter the rich water bearing red sandstone which, if required, can enable any of the five wells to pump 50,000 gallons of cold water per hour. Characteristic tall red brick buildings house the well heads. Most of this water is used for circulating and cooling, and is passed through the two cooling towers which have been local landmarks for many years. Surprisingly, the water levels vary little, and even in the drought of 1976 the normal supply was maintained.

It is interesting to reflect upon developments at Red Scar over the years. The ancient Red Scar House, owned by the Cross family, occupied a beautiful spot overlooking Horseshoe Bend. The mansion was demolished many years ago, and all that remain today are a few ornamental trees and an extremely solid stone pillar which once supported the telescope in a private observatory.

Courtaulds commenced production in 1939, and, during the war, the factory was turned over in part to the army, who manufactured motor and tank parts for the 8th Army, and Dick, Kerr, and Co., who produced fuel tanks for the Halifax and Hampden bombers. The remains of the army camp may yet be traced on the other side of Longridge Road, and many army buildings on the 100 acre site are still in use. The 1950’s and 60’s saw a large influx of Commonwealth immigrants attracted by the prospect of regular employment. Like most of Preston’s once numerous textile mills Courtauld’s now seems destined for the “chop”, and will contribute some 2500 workers to swell the already unacceptable number of unemployed people in the town.

All that now remains of the mansion at Red Scar. This incredibly solid piece of stonework once supported the telescope in an observatory in the grounds of Red Scar House. The demolition contractor clearly had second thoughts about knocking it down.

The abutment of the bridge which once carried the Preston-Walton Summit tramway across Garden Street, off Winckley Square. It also marks the route of the long vanished Syke.

A rather rare photograph showing a length of Outram Way plate sticking up among the nettles on a stretch of the Preston-Walton Summit tramway off Brownedge Road, Bamber Bridge.

Mr. John Shaw and Trefaes Brenda obligingly pose in a patch of early morning winter sunshine in Roebuck Street.

Yes, we have no bananas

In the early morning of March 12th 1978 the Panamanian motorship Nathalie D. foundered forty miles off the Algerian coast on a voyage from Castellon, Spain, to Skikda, Algeria, with a cargo of bagged cement. What connection, you might ask, could there possibly be between an insignificant Panamanian tramp and Preston. The fact is that in the 1950’s this ship, then named Windward Islands, together with its sister Leeward Islands, was a regular and popular visitor to Preston Dock.

Operating under the Swedish flag these two graceful white hulled vessels were engaged in the banana trade between Preston and the West Indies, and most Prestonians spoke of them with considerable pride. Indeed the Windward Islands has been immortalized (along with the veteran Helen Craig, arguably the most regular visitor ever to the dock) in glass in the window of the New Ship Inn across from the main dock gate in Watery Lane. With the austerity of the war not too far behind, they added a touch of sunshine to the grey northern landscape of Preston.

In the 50’s and 60’s the port, under the auspices of Geest Industries, played an important part in the West Indies fruit trade, until that firm, operating bigger ships, and with the Ribble channel silting up, moved its operations to South Wales.

Can you imagine a warm summer’s evening with this ship approaching the Bull Nose, with the tug Hewitt at her bow, and the Lucas aft (few ships of similar size ever seemed to require two tugs) after the long haul across the Atlantic. Once discharge had commenced it was not unusual for a startled docker to capture some exotic reptile or large insect coming down the conveyor belt among the bananas.

After leaving the Swedish register the Windward Islands saw service under the flags of Norway, The United Arab Emirates, and latterly Panama. Carrying bagged cement is a far cry from the fruit trade, but this is what this fine ship had been relegated to after almost a quarter of a century’s trading.

Preston Dock, showing the original route of the Ribble and the New Diversion

Map of Preston Dock, illustrating the original route of the River Ribble and its new diversion with key locations marked.

Key:
1 The Willows
2 Dock Offices
3 Hydraulic Engine Houses
4 Weighbridge
5 The Bull Nose
6 Site of Concrete Shipyard
7 Victoria Warehouse
8 Site of Allsup’s Shipyard
9 Coal conveyor bridge
10 Site of Preston Marsh
11 Coal hoists and crane
12 Proposed Graving Dock entrances
13 New Diversion Quay — Thos. Ward
14 Ribble Branch Railway

Stone sleepers, iron rails.

One of the most visible and interesting remains of the Industrial Revolution in the town is the Preston-Walton Summit tramway, and it is surprising how much of this railway, primitive by today’s standards, still exists.

It was the intention of the Lancaster Canal Company to link Kendal, which was virtually the most northerly point on the canal system in England, with the Leeds-Liverpool canal, and so provide an uninterrupted through route to London.

The proposed crossing of the Ribble valley at Preston was by a three arched aqueduct over the river, and an embankment. From an engineering viewpoint the idea was sound, but funds were low and, as a temporary measure, it was decided to link the southern end of the Lancaster canal, at Wharf Street, Preston, with a cut from the Leeds-Liverpool canal at Walton Summit, above Kellet Lane, Bamber Bridge, by a horse drawn tramway about five miles in length.

There was a considerable divergence of opinion as to what was the best tramway system to use. Two Derbyshire engineers, Jessop and Outram, had previous experience of such railways, but their plans were very different. Jessop, the proposer of the scheme, and already acting as an engineer to the canal company, was understandably upset at the snub when it was decided to give the job to Benjamin Outram.

Unlike modern railways, Outram’s plates (rails) were flanged to prevent derailment, and the rims of the waggon wheels flat. It was planned to lay the sleepers (hefty stone blocks of a hundredweight or more) at intervals of one yard to support the three feet long iron plates. These plates were secured to the sleepers by iron saddles and spikes driven into oaken plugs in the blocks. The gauge was about four feet, with the flanges on the inside edge.

The wheelbase of the waggons was designed so that “at the instant the hinder wheel of the carriage comes upon the end of a rail, the fore wheel is quitting the other end, and the rail is never loaded with more than one fourth of the waggon at once.” All in all there was nothing ramshackle about the tramway, and it was generally solid and serviceable. In March 1976 the local Sub Aqua club dived into the deep pool in the river below the Old Tram Bridge and successfully located and raised the remains of a waggon which, it was recorded, had run out of control down the Avenham incline and into the river some 150 years previously. Despite a well planned salvage operation, the rotten wooden axles broke as the remains were being lifted, although the four 2 feet diameter cast iron wheels were recovered in good condition.

Traffic on the tramway began to move in 1802/3. In those days the southern terminus of the canal was in the coal yards in Corporation Street, and in the Fleet Street area there was quite a system of tramway sidings. On its journey south the tram road went beneath Fishergate in a tunnel, the forerunner of the much enlarged version which now serves the East Lancashire goods yard. At Garden Street there still remains the stone abutment of a bridge which, it is thought, may have carried the tram road across the Syke. The route thereafter has been built upon, but it emerged at the edge of the Ribble valley in Avenham Park, and made its way along the top of the park towards the Old Tram Bridge, descending the 1 in 6 Avenham incline to the bridge proper.

The steep incline down to the bridge was far too demanding for any horse. On the site of the present Belvedere in the park stood an engine house, with a small “factory” chimney, to provide power from a static steam engine to winch the trams up and down the incline by means of an endless chain. The train, under horse power again, would rattle across the bridge and across the floor of the valley on the long embankment towards (in today’s terms) the factory of Vernon Carus Ltd., where it would climb out of the valley. Whether or not this ascent (much less fierce than that at Avenham) was power assisted is not clear. It is possible that there was an arrangement whereby heavier northbound waggons going downhill could have been used to haul up the lighter southbound train by means of a rope and revolving drum.

On the flat again the road crossed Hennel Lane and Todd Lane near Lime Kiln Cottage (The main trade was coal from the Wigan Coalfield northbound, limestone southbound. The lime kilns, of which there appear to have been two, no longer exist.) and crossed Brownedge Road, taking a route through the car park of Baxi Ltd. and “Mainway” Gate (Meanygate).

On the lintel of the house adjoining the ginnel next to the McKenzie Arms in Bamber Bridge can be seen the carving of a blacksmith’s anvil, which may be a throwback to tramway days. From this ginnel onwards the route is nowadays almost inaccessible, but can still be traced between the characteristic hawthorn hedges. The M6 motorway cuts across it, and the features of the rise to Walton Summit have more or less been obliterated.

Of the original plates very few remain, most of them having been sold for scrap since the tramway closed in about 1859. The sleeper blocks, however, with their two drilled holes, and often the clear outline of the iron saddle they held, can be found virtually anywhere from the stone wall surrounding Ladywell House in Preston through Avenham Park to the Summit.

And so, after working for sixty years or so, this “temporary” measure was finally killed off by its more sophisticated relative, the steam railway…. but that’s another story.

Cutting the first sod

In order to make more land available on the Preston side of the Ribble, where the dock was to be built, the river was diverted from its natural course almost a quarter of a mile to the south from the site of Penwortham (new) bridge to point about 200 yards seawards of the present dock entrance. This involved the excavation of a new river diversion 2800 yards in length and 300 feet wide. A fine quay, now used by Thomas Ward Ltd., was built to provide a tidal berth for coasters, although it has been little used for that purpose over the years. The sides of the diversion were pitched with stone obtained both from quarries at Longridge and the dock excavation itself.

It was only fitting that a fair degree of pomp should accompany the first step in the construction of the new diversion, and it was proposed that a ceremony to mark the cutting of the first sod should take place.

Large numbers of navvies, attracted by the prospect of regular employment, roamed the streets of Preston, and there was much begging in the town. The contractor, Thomas Walker (who was also involved with the Manchester Ship Canal) was well organised, and had built a strong bridge across barges moored in the river near Victoria Quay at the bottom of Marsh Lane, since the nearest bridge (Penwortham ‘old’) was too far upstream to be convenient for the carriage of plant and materials. A grandstand had been erected on the Penwortham side at the foot of Castle Hill (near today’s Power Station) and a road made from stout timbers ran to it from the pontoon bridge.

The morning of October 11th 1884 dawned with frost, and a keen northerly wind blew a powdering of snow. With an eye on the day’s programme, Alderman Gilbertson, the bewhiskered Chairman of the Ribble Committee, could perhaps be excused slipping on an extra layer of underwear as he dressed.

After assembling at the Town Hall the V.I.P.’s were driven down to Victoria Quay, where they crossed the floating bridge to the Penwortham side of the river. There, on the draughty river bank, the speeches were understandably brief and to the point. The Alderman was presented with a silver spade and a small ornate wheelbarrow. Entering into the spirit of things, he deftly lifted two sods and placed them in his barrow, which he wheeled at a good pace and in a true workmanlike manner, depositing the load at the foot of Castle Hill. His Worship the Mayor, John Forshaw, followed suit, cutting a rather jaunty if incongruous figure, and getting his mayoral robes tangled in his barrow in the process. Altogether it was a light hearted affair, and after the obligatory three cheers the mayoral party left for more comfortable surroundings, leaving the contractor to get on with the job. Excavation began immediately, although it was not until March 24th 1888 that water was admitted to the new diversion.

As it turned out, the official sod cutting had been preceded a week earlier in a “cloth cap” ceremony by workmen who had elected themselves as representatives of the ratepayers — and so the first first sod was cut with due formality, and though the audience was not large, it was no doubt enthusiastic.

At the turn of a tap.

Preston’s water supply is surely one of the finest and softest in the country, as anyone returning from a holiday on the South Coast will appreciate. However, prior to the mid 17th. century, Prestonians relied upon springs, wells, and streams for their water. In 1654 a public draw well was sunk in the market place, later being replaced by a pump, but it was not until 1729 that a public water supply as we know it was suggested.

Visitors to Martin Mere will have seen examples of primitive water pipes fashioned from tapered, hollowed out Elm trunks slotted together like a fishing rod to form a quite serviceable water main. It was through such pipes that the town’s first water supply was carried.

Two acres of land were leased to a local entrepreneur, by name Robert Abbatt, in the area bounded by the present day Starkie Street and Chaddock Street, in the valley of the Syke, to draw water from that stream and any springs in the area. The idea was to lay pipes through the back lanes and weinds, and in particular, to supply a conduit in the market square, taking care not to interfere with any existing water sources. Also it was arranged for plugs to be established at salient points for fire fighting purposes. The market place conduit lasted for only 10 years, being demolished to allow the reflagging of the square, but in return the Corporation leased additional land in the Syke for collecting water. Today the Avenham multi storey car park occupies this area, and it was here that a small reservoir was constructed, a large circular brick lined hole into which nearby springs drained. The very idea of such a water supply was considered so ludicrous that it was nicknamed “The Folly”.

Anyone standing in Fishergate today would wonder how on earth the water was lifted up to street level from the bottom of Glover’s Court. It was, in fact, forced up by machinery driven by horses yoked to a shaft. Water was only available at certain times of day, and a man patrolling the main would alert the locals by sounding a rattle prior to opening the taps. In due course domestic and industrial demand outstripped the resources of The Folly, and in 1832 the Preston Waterworks Company was formed, and the first ‘real’ reservoir built at Grimsargh, driving Mr. Abbatt’s brain child out of existence.

Battle of the Little Bigholme.

Today the average commuter would have little to say in favour of Penwortham Holme, it being a major traffic black spot in the rush hours. Certainly it is doubtful if the motorist has an eye for the rather pleasant aspect it affords. The road across the Holme is lined on both sides by majestic Jersey Elms (will they survive the prevalent Dutch Elm disease?) and in effect crosses a small, pleasant green belt with allotments to the West and playing fields to the East, all overlooked by the thickly wooded Penwortham side of the Ribble valley.

The Triangle, formed by the junction of the Liverpool and Leyland roads, is at the moment an overgrown tangle of Elm suckers and brambles, and borings are currently in progress there, presumably in connection with the bridge which would carry the proposed Penwortham by pass over Liverpool Road.

The word “holm” is Norse for island, and indeed our Holme used to be such. In fact, Buck’s “South Prospect of Preston” in 1728 shows it as being two islands. The main channel of the river passed to the North, more or less as today, whilst the channel to the South was little more than a dyke which did, however, allow small river craft to reach a jetty at the foot of Penwortham Hill. Today a branch of this channel is still clearly visible in the field adjacent to Leyland Road, and floods in wet weather.

In the Guild Week of 1842 horse racing was held on the Holme, and proved so popular that meetings were held almost every year until 1848, when a group of soldiers, no doubt having failed to pick a winner, tangled with the constabulary in a rather fierce set to, and racing was subsequently discontinued.

One of the most unlikely figures to gallop across the Holme was Colonel W.F. Cody, no less. The Preston Guardian of September 26th. 1904 advertised the forthcoming appearance of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show…. “A vivid portrayal of the exciting, sanguinary, and romantic scenes of pioneer life. 800 people, 500 horses; Cossacks, Gauchos, Vaqueros, Bedouin Arabs; a Japanese troupe in native war dress; Redskin braves, scouts, hunters, cowboys; Pony Express riding; the holding up of the Deadwood Stage; an indian war dance; bucking broncos; the chase, capture, and punishment of a horse thief; a rescue by breeches buoy, and (as if this wasn’t enough) the battle of the Little Bighorn.”

Watch out for arrows the next time you’re stuck in the jam!

The milkman’s horse.

Providing a tenuous link with the past in Preston is Mr. John Shaw, who owns what are probably the only remaining working horses in the town. Trefaes Brenda, aged 19, and Regency Jubilee, 13, are Welsh Cob mares who, come rain, hail, or shine, work a day on / day off rota delivering milk on Mr. Shaw’s round in the Tulketh Brow / St. Mark’s Road / Fylde Road area.

John Shaw has had a lifetime of horses, and is one of those fortunate people who manages to combine his hobby with his job. It is not too difficult to appreciate the economy of horse power compared with a milk float or van, but it is perhaps hard to understand his assertion that a horse is quicker. However, a careful study of his milk round reveals that the horse knows the route well, starts and stops at the appropriate delivery points without orders, and maintains a firm control of the cart on the many steep hills on the round. It is, in fact, as good as a helper. Furthermore it is little affected by the deliberations of Middle East oil potentates or mechanical failure.

Norris Street is probably the last place you would expect to find stables, but it is there that these two thoroughbred horses are very well cared for. And so this little book ends on a milky rather than watery note. Here’s to John Shaw, Trefaes Brenda, and Regency Jubilee — long may they rein.

Acknowledgements

Simon Booth
Courtaulds Ltd., Preston: Mr. J. Fenner, Mr. J. Houghton.
Margaret Ellis
Mr. M. J. Gaston
The Guildhall Library
The Harris Museum Reference Library staff.
The Jeremiah Horrocks observatory
Clive Langman
The National Maritime Museum
The New Hanover County Museum, Wilmington, North Carolina
Mr. John Shaw
Mr. Harry Stewart
Thomas W. Ward Ltd: Brian Marsden, Manager, Preston

References

The Avenham History Trail — Stephen Harrison
Big Gun Monitors — Ian Buxton
History of the Borough of Preston — C. Hardwick
History of Preston — A. Hewitson
The Story of Preston — Preston Education Committee
A History of the Ribble Navigation — James Barron
Back editions of the Lancashire Evening Post and Preston Guardian
Lloyds Register of Shipping
Merchant Fleets in Profile — D. Haws
Sea Breezes magazine
The Walton Summit and Branch Canal — Winifred M. Gibbs

Published by Paul Godkin, 4, Kingsway West, Penwortham, Preston. 1980