6 hours Ago By [email protected] (Andy Smart)
In the 1930s, Leenside was home to a police station where Chief Superintendent George W Downs began his career. Prior to the First World War, Mr Downs, affectionately known as GD, served in B Division during what he referred to as "the toughest and most turbulent" times. His superior officer was a man named Wise, who earned the nickname Duckneck due to his unusually thin neck.
Another notable figure was Sergeant Wild, or Billy Blowitt, a formidable man tasked with handling violent individuals involved in robbery and exploitation. Mr Downs, who later became assistant to the renowned Chief Constable Athelstan Popkess, wrote in the 1930s: " Police officers were often attacked without provocation at that time by gangs of thugs who would always snatch the constable's whistle and throw it away at the outset, so that he could not summon assistance, and it was on a similar occasion that Sgt Wild earned his nickname." Get the latest news straight to your phone by joining us on WhatsApp "He was attacked by a gang of roughs and, true to pattern, they snatched his whistle and threw it away.
"It fell at the feet of a bystander, known to Sgt Wild, who shouted, 'Blow it Billy, blow it' and Billy ran down Crosland Place towards Leenside police station blowing for all he was worth." Billy Blowitt became Mr Wild's nickname, and stuck even when he was promoted to inspector and transferred. Narrow Marsh, or as it became known, Red Lion Street, was infamous for its brawls and drunken skirmishes.
But at Goose Fair, the place was invaded by hundreds of travelling thieves and pickpockets who took up lodgings in the many houses and furnished rooms. The adjacent slim alleyways leading to Leenside were also well-known crime spots, where passersby would be enticed by women only to be assaulted and robbed by their accomplices. To counteract the danger, police officers would patrol these alleys in pairs after sundown.
Former Chief Superintendent Mr Downs reminisced about another characteristic of the locality - the organ grinders who brought music to the streets long before radios and gramophones became household items. These street musicians, whom he said brought the sole glimmers of happiness to local children, rented their organs from a company in Plumptre Square, often playing tunes outside the Loggerheads pub on their way back. He also recalled a dozen pubs in the area: The Sportsman, at the junction of Plumptre Square; Tiger's Head; King's Head; Star and Garter, which later became a lodging house; Traveller's Rest; Lord Byron; Loggerheads; Ten Bells, that eventually transformed into a mission; Red Lion; White Lion; Woodman; and the Fergus O'Connor in Malt Mill Lane.
"They were open all day until 11pm," Mr. Downs said. "And when they turned out we had a very lively time until midnight.
" GD's article and recollections brought in a flood of memories. A reader recalled a certain Mrs Boaler, also known as the Singing Lady. She was recognised by her red rosette, a symbol of her commitment to total abstinence.
She would boldly walk around Narrow Marsh after dark, visiting impoverished, malnourished families with beef tea. Following this, she would seek out the absent husband, confronting him in his pub. She was a familiar yet disruptive presence at St Peter's Church.
With a powerful voice but no sense of rhythm, she would overpower the choir and organ. While they sang about "running the straight race with great enthusiasm", she was still belting out "fighting the good fight"..
