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Stafford - tramptastic?
- Thread starter db
- Start date
gon2seed
(and me! - Ed)
Yeah! I must confess to being a musical ignoramus, and while being aware of our towns musical heritage never really dipped my toe in the waters. I did follow developments and was stirred as usual by any mention of 'my town' in venerated terms. Listening again they were pretty bloody good, I remember thinking so at the time, but never really did anything about it, Iwas a miserable old git even then!
Andreas Rex
Banned for smiling
Aye carumba..my mind cannot compete with the combined speed and wit of dirtybobby and gone2seed....i'm retiring to the smoking lounge.. 
gon2seed
(and me! - Ed)
"to be honest, when i said "new generations" i was referring to the aforementioned seedling who was throwing some shapes/reaching for the lasers 'pon hearing the sounds of altern8!"
Of course you were, excuse me, I was on nights last night,.
Listen, if the seedling stops listening to VERY second rate local garage/grime and actually puts on something that I can listen to for five minutes without going stark staring mad, I will be delighted.
Of course you were, excuse me, I was on nights last night,.
Listen, if the seedling stops listening to VERY second rate local garage/grime and actually puts on something that I can listen to for five minutes without going stark staring mad, I will be delighted.
I can honestly say that since the bethany closed and they shipped all the dregs away from the newport road area, i haven't seen any trampy people for a while, although there is that indian lady who sells the big ishooooooooo and has a qwerky chant stands outside wh smith, she stinks of piss, stood behind her in the post office and smelled her. Cuffy was a tramp remember but he was jovial.
BBC
You knows it
It certainly has been alot more peaceful around town since the unfortunate fire in the bethany project. The days of jovial tramps like the cuffmeister and rob the russian are gone i'm afraid Biggin. Now, all most of these vagrants want to do is rob people so they can get their next fix of heroin. So it seems utterly ridiculous to put them close to the town centre eh? Well take a look at this.....
only in the'ford!
FFS this makes me angry. I'm not against rehabilitation for the homeless but why do it so close to a town centre when we all saw what happened last time?
The Eagle may have been built in 1800 but it's nothing special to look at is it?? Knock the whole place down and put a decent nightclub there is what i say!
only in the'ford!
FFS this makes me angry. I'm not against rehabilitation for the homeless but why do it so close to a town centre when we all saw what happened last time?
The Eagle may have been built in 1800 but it's nothing special to look at is it?? Knock the whole place down and put a decent nightclub there is what i say!
rich upsetter
Cuffy is the new skill
how dare you!!! the eagle was the finest pub in stafford before the likes of the railway changed for the better. it was a crying shame when it closed down, i spent many a mispent evening in there getting gently bollocked by the lovely landlady.BBC said:
cant believe theres going to be them types inhabitting it. maybe they can do a new mural on the walls again.
Augustus Gloop
Well-Known Forumite
'them types' 
BBC
You knows it
I'm not denying that Rich but that was time ago. What i'm saying is that if it is such an important building why has it gone into such a derilict state. Also it's hardly a classic georgian mansion is it? So why the big fuss about knocking it down?rich upsetter said:
Exactly clart. It almost defies belief!dirtybobby said:
db
#chaplife
i get exactly what your saying splew.. it's a long time since it has been a functioning pub, and the shell that remains isn't attractive or of any particular significance.. i'm sure it holds many fond memories for people, but so does Bodmin Park and i wouldn't really care if they concreted that inBBC said:
gon2seed
(and me! - Ed)
Well she wasn't really a tramp but she shared many of the characteristics, so I've chucked my memories into this pot.
Ivy, was another of the Stafford characters you hoped wouldn't be next to you on the bus or in the queue at Woolies. She looked as much like a Brothers Grim Troll as I imagine it is possible for a human to look, without living under a bridge and eating goats. Squat and rotund with an enormous head, if you have ever seen The Labyrinth (Henson puppet shop movie featuring David Bowie), she was Hoggle in a skirt. Her craggy visage, was deeply wrinkled, and she had a splendid display of facial moles, each featuring their own little gardens of hairs. Though she looked much older Ivy was about 40 I think.
Ivy terrorised the inhabitants of Stafford, particularly its shopkeepers during the 80's. She was actually a resident of Stone, but frequently visited the County Town to shop, and make the lives of Social Services staff a misery.
In fairness to Ivy, she had every right to make our lives difficult, because fate, or more accurately, The Authorities, hadn't dealt Ivy a very good hand. Ivy had been a long term resident of Stallington Hospital near Blythe Bridge. This was a former Colony for people with a learning disability, and was a throw back to the days when we thought the best thing to do with anyone different, was to chuck them in an institution, out of our way. St Georges was of course a similar establishment, though for people with psychiatric illness. But the truth is, that in the early and middle part of the last century you could be incarcerated for a variety of spurious reasons, particularly if you female and/or poor. Unmarried pregnancy was a favourite excuse for locking up otherwise compus mentis young females, and of course after spending years with people with real mental health problems or learning disbilities, its hardly any wonder they started to display similar characteristics, and became institutionalised.
I don't know Ivy's early story, but I do know she struggled to live in the world outside the Hospital. She had been moved around a variety of homes and establishments, but despite appearances she was actually pretty shrewd. Her appearance and her manner were definitely her downfall. She had a shock of wild hair, that she tried to tame into ribbons or bunches; Ivy continued this attempt at femininity by donning flowery skirts, and she often attempted to flirt with young men who caught her eye, an occurance that usually resulted in the recipient fleeing in terror. Ivy was to be seen rampaging around The Ford with carrier bags hanging off her, growling at the towns inhabitants, and intimidating people in order to get her way. One of Ivy's favourites was to get on the bus back to the Canal Town brandishing a Tenner claiming she had no change. In those days the bus driver would never have enough change, and he (it was always a he) would be faced with the decision on whether to let Ivy on for free or to attempt to eject her, as she would stubbornly refuse to get off and get change from a nearby shop! Ivy usually got her way!
Ivy lived with Jack ?(his surname escapes me) a notorious resident of Stone, who despite being in his 80's had a reputation as fearsome as Ivy's. I was once in Kwik Save in Stone and a child was throwing a tantrum by the sweets at the checkout, and the mother in an attempt to scare the youngster into behaving itself, said "If you don't stop that and behave yourself Jack ? will come and get you!" Miraculously the child stopped, powerful stuff! Talk about a legend in your own life time. Jack and Ivy were feared and misunderstood in equal measure. They lived in a three storey house that was quite literally falling down around them, it was condemned as unfit for human habitation by the Borough, but the dilemma was what to do with the couple. No one wanted them living near them, and everytime a property became available, a petition was started, and councillors assurances sought that “they“ would not be moving in. It was at this point I became more aquainted with the couples story, but I'll save that tale for another time.
Ivy, was another of the Stafford characters you hoped wouldn't be next to you on the bus or in the queue at Woolies. She looked as much like a Brothers Grim Troll as I imagine it is possible for a human to look, without living under a bridge and eating goats. Squat and rotund with an enormous head, if you have ever seen The Labyrinth (Henson puppet shop movie featuring David Bowie), she was Hoggle in a skirt. Her craggy visage, was deeply wrinkled, and she had a splendid display of facial moles, each featuring their own little gardens of hairs. Though she looked much older Ivy was about 40 I think.
Ivy terrorised the inhabitants of Stafford, particularly its shopkeepers during the 80's. She was actually a resident of Stone, but frequently visited the County Town to shop, and make the lives of Social Services staff a misery.
In fairness to Ivy, she had every right to make our lives difficult, because fate, or more accurately, The Authorities, hadn't dealt Ivy a very good hand. Ivy had been a long term resident of Stallington Hospital near Blythe Bridge. This was a former Colony for people with a learning disability, and was a throw back to the days when we thought the best thing to do with anyone different, was to chuck them in an institution, out of our way. St Georges was of course a similar establishment, though for people with psychiatric illness. But the truth is, that in the early and middle part of the last century you could be incarcerated for a variety of spurious reasons, particularly if you female and/or poor. Unmarried pregnancy was a favourite excuse for locking up otherwise compus mentis young females, and of course after spending years with people with real mental health problems or learning disbilities, its hardly any wonder they started to display similar characteristics, and became institutionalised.
I don't know Ivy's early story, but I do know she struggled to live in the world outside the Hospital. She had been moved around a variety of homes and establishments, but despite appearances she was actually pretty shrewd. Her appearance and her manner were definitely her downfall. She had a shock of wild hair, that she tried to tame into ribbons or bunches; Ivy continued this attempt at femininity by donning flowery skirts, and she often attempted to flirt with young men who caught her eye, an occurance that usually resulted in the recipient fleeing in terror. Ivy was to be seen rampaging around The Ford with carrier bags hanging off her, growling at the towns inhabitants, and intimidating people in order to get her way. One of Ivy's favourites was to get on the bus back to the Canal Town brandishing a Tenner claiming she had no change. In those days the bus driver would never have enough change, and he (it was always a he) would be faced with the decision on whether to let Ivy on for free or to attempt to eject her, as she would stubbornly refuse to get off and get change from a nearby shop! Ivy usually got her way!
Ivy lived with Jack ?(his surname escapes me) a notorious resident of Stone, who despite being in his 80's had a reputation as fearsome as Ivy's. I was once in Kwik Save in Stone and a child was throwing a tantrum by the sweets at the checkout, and the mother in an attempt to scare the youngster into behaving itself, said "If you don't stop that and behave yourself Jack ? will come and get you!" Miraculously the child stopped, powerful stuff! Talk about a legend in your own life time. Jack and Ivy were feared and misunderstood in equal measure. They lived in a three storey house that was quite literally falling down around them, it was condemned as unfit for human habitation by the Borough, but the dilemma was what to do with the couple. No one wanted them living near them, and everytime a property became available, a petition was started, and councillors assurances sought that “they“ would not be moving in. It was at this point I became more aquainted with the couples story, but I'll save that tale for another time.
gon2seed
(and me! - Ed)
I got more intimately aquainted with Jack and Ivy when called on to complete a task above and beyond the call of duty for a social work assistant.
Jayne, a social worker of considerable experience, and the one who dealt with Ivy on a regular basis, came into the office, and declared to anyone who would listen; "We have a problem at Ivy's". I knew from her face and her use of the word 'we', that this was a problem beyond the run of the mill. My heart sank, because I knew that as the junior member of the team, in need of training, the 'we' would include me, and I would be getting my hands dirty. (Just how dirty I could not have guessed!)
That's how I came to be outside Ivy & Jack's house, wearing a white disposable suit, mask and hair net, looking for all the world like an extra off the set of CSI.
Ivy and Jack had had a blocked toilet for a long time, the house was falling down round them, and as Ivy slept at the top of the three story house, with crumbling stairs, she would have been unlikely to pop down to spend a penny, or anything else, even if the bog had been working. Ivy's ingenious solution was three small empty oil drums, well, ... empty of their original contents, but now unfortunately brimming with Ivy's contents. There was a danger of floor collapse, and of course there was the health hazard.
When Jayne made the original discovery she contacted a number of agencies in an effort to find a solution, Borough, Housing, Health, Environmental Health, all said it was not their problem (who can blame them), in the end the department who empty sceptic tanks said that they would collect the waste, but couldn't be responsible for removing said waste from the building!
So that was how my line manager Graham and I, came to be standing outside the property, suitably suited and booted, we were to be the removals men!
With a good deal of trepidation we entered the building, and ascended the lethal stairs. It was then that the lack of electricity became apparent (cut off ages ago) as the dingy house left the enclosed stairs in near darkness. I didn't need to ask Graham if he was thinking the same as me, one glance at his expression told me that he was wondering how we were going to navigate these steps without spilling our cargo.
We arrived at the top, and there they were, sitting serenely in the middle of room. I was expecting a stench, but was surprised as there was not too much odour - we hadn't moved them yet!
We barely looked at each other before crouching and preparing to lift, I was glad that Ivy had been kind enough to use smallish drums. My head was dangerously close to the inky effluent now, with its irredescant film, and still it had not assaulted my nostrils, but as soon as we lifted - the movement released the smell ...
We both gagged, that dry gag, that starts in your boots and ends in that awful moan. How neither of us puked I'll never know. The benign fluid had become a menacing, foul, reeking brew, and though I tried not to look, I thought I could see things floating! We had reached the point of no return however, and holding our collective breath, we raised the drum and it's writhing contents.
Wretching we made for the stairs, and miraculously made it down the flights with only minor spillage and no falls. A few times we teetered, but the consequences of overturning that foul potion on ourselves were, ... well, ... inconceivable.
I think we were getting used to the smell, as we had both stopped dry hurling by the time we reached the bottom. When we emerged from the gloom to a bright day, it was with extreme relief. The extent of the nausating qualities of our cargo was brought home by the sanitation fella's running for cover when we emerged. One brave old chap with years of experience with effluent came close enough to assist us with the coup de gras, but even he held his nose!
Environmental Health had provided a gully sucker, which is a small tanker used for emptying sceptic tanks, we were to pour the contents of the drum into a hopper at the back of this vehicle where it would be sucked away. The old fella pointed to where we were to pour the gloop, and then did one, quick sharp.
I looked at Graham and could see he was dreading this as much as me, we both turned away and started to pour, but of course we had to look back to make IT was going where IT was supposed to. BIG mistake, the indescribable stench, and the visual confirmation that it was not just number 1's we had been carrying, resulted in the greatest round of hurling yet! The stuff was protesting at being ejected, and fighting back with its most pungent waft to date.
I swear the stuff was alive, and sure enough as we came to the bottom, it made a unsuccesful final leap for freedom, before it disappeared down the massive plug hole, but before it did I'm sure the monster winked at me!
Well one down, two to go!
Miraculously we accomplished the hiddeous task with stomach contents intact, but no lining on out nostrils. We spilled not much more than a few splatters, and the 20 years that have passed since this event, means that I only remember collecting the first drum with any clarity. I can still recall that smell though.
The toilet was unblocked by the sanitation fella's, and mission accomplished we returned to work, weird sort of hero's,... but no one wanted to shake our hands!
I left Staffordshire for Scarborough shortly after to shack up with Mrs Seed, and was not around when Ivy went back into an institution, and then passed away. Sad and lonely life really, but I'll never forget her!
Jayne, a social worker of considerable experience, and the one who dealt with Ivy on a regular basis, came into the office, and declared to anyone who would listen; "We have a problem at Ivy's". I knew from her face and her use of the word 'we', that this was a problem beyond the run of the mill. My heart sank, because I knew that as the junior member of the team, in need of training, the 'we' would include me, and I would be getting my hands dirty. (Just how dirty I could not have guessed!)
That's how I came to be outside Ivy & Jack's house, wearing a white disposable suit, mask and hair net, looking for all the world like an extra off the set of CSI.
Ivy and Jack had had a blocked toilet for a long time, the house was falling down round them, and as Ivy slept at the top of the three story house, with crumbling stairs, she would have been unlikely to pop down to spend a penny, or anything else, even if the bog had been working. Ivy's ingenious solution was three small empty oil drums, well, ... empty of their original contents, but now unfortunately brimming with Ivy's contents. There was a danger of floor collapse, and of course there was the health hazard.
When Jayne made the original discovery she contacted a number of agencies in an effort to find a solution, Borough, Housing, Health, Environmental Health, all said it was not their problem (who can blame them), in the end the department who empty sceptic tanks said that they would collect the waste, but couldn't be responsible for removing said waste from the building!
So that was how my line manager Graham and I, came to be standing outside the property, suitably suited and booted, we were to be the removals men!
With a good deal of trepidation we entered the building, and ascended the lethal stairs. It was then that the lack of electricity became apparent (cut off ages ago) as the dingy house left the enclosed stairs in near darkness. I didn't need to ask Graham if he was thinking the same as me, one glance at his expression told me that he was wondering how we were going to navigate these steps without spilling our cargo.
We arrived at the top, and there they were, sitting serenely in the middle of room. I was expecting a stench, but was surprised as there was not too much odour - we hadn't moved them yet!
We barely looked at each other before crouching and preparing to lift, I was glad that Ivy had been kind enough to use smallish drums. My head was dangerously close to the inky effluent now, with its irredescant film, and still it had not assaulted my nostrils, but as soon as we lifted - the movement released the smell ...
We both gagged, that dry gag, that starts in your boots and ends in that awful moan. How neither of us puked I'll never know. The benign fluid had become a menacing, foul, reeking brew, and though I tried not to look, I thought I could see things floating! We had reached the point of no return however, and holding our collective breath, we raised the drum and it's writhing contents.
Wretching we made for the stairs, and miraculously made it down the flights with only minor spillage and no falls. A few times we teetered, but the consequences of overturning that foul potion on ourselves were, ... well, ... inconceivable.
I think we were getting used to the smell, as we had both stopped dry hurling by the time we reached the bottom. When we emerged from the gloom to a bright day, it was with extreme relief. The extent of the nausating qualities of our cargo was brought home by the sanitation fella's running for cover when we emerged. One brave old chap with years of experience with effluent came close enough to assist us with the coup de gras, but even he held his nose!
Environmental Health had provided a gully sucker, which is a small tanker used for emptying sceptic tanks, we were to pour the contents of the drum into a hopper at the back of this vehicle where it would be sucked away. The old fella pointed to where we were to pour the gloop, and then did one, quick sharp.
I looked at Graham and could see he was dreading this as much as me, we both turned away and started to pour, but of course we had to look back to make IT was going where IT was supposed to. BIG mistake, the indescribable stench, and the visual confirmation that it was not just number 1's we had been carrying, resulted in the greatest round of hurling yet! The stuff was protesting at being ejected, and fighting back with its most pungent waft to date.
I swear the stuff was alive, and sure enough as we came to the bottom, it made a unsuccesful final leap for freedom, before it disappeared down the massive plug hole, but before it did I'm sure the monster winked at me!
Well one down, two to go!
Miraculously we accomplished the hiddeous task with stomach contents intact, but no lining on out nostrils. We spilled not much more than a few splatters, and the 20 years that have passed since this event, means that I only remember collecting the first drum with any clarity. I can still recall that smell though.
The toilet was unblocked by the sanitation fella's, and mission accomplished we returned to work, weird sort of hero's,... but no one wanted to shake our hands!
I left Staffordshire for Scarborough shortly after to shack up with Mrs Seed, and was not around when Ivy went back into an institution, and then passed away. Sad and lonely life really, but I'll never forget her!