Memories of Cherry Tree Hill

Memories of Cherry Tree Hill
Recollections in praise of a Derby suburb by Neil Johnson

The area known as Cherry Tree Hill lies on the eastern edge of Chaddesden at the entrance to Spondon. When I first encountered the locality in the mid sixties it was still surrounded by fields and lay in the county of Derbyshire and not within what were then the town borough limits. Just as everywhere in Britain now represents a different face to that years ago – Cherry Tree Hill is no exception.

Derby, as older residents will remember, was a big engineering and railway town with the curious legacy of its original market town origins still peeking through in most quarters. Areas such as Chaddesden, Littleover, Mickleover and others were still regarded as villages by those who resided in them.

I moved into the area in the winter of 1964-65 as a thirteen year old lad from south east Northumberland and loved where I had come to live but it in no way felt like living on the edge of a large town. Our house in St John’s Drive had been built in the early 1920’s and was one of twelve small cottage style semis. At the end of our cul-de-sac, where other houses now stand, was a small paddock, home to a couple of donkeys. We were the first family in the close to buy one of the houses, most were occupied by elderly couples whose fledglings had flown the nest; having lived there for decades (donkey’s years in fact!!)

Although barely three miles to the east of Derby, residents had to catch the bus to Long Eaton to pay their rent on and curiously referred to their trips as ’going into town’ as opposed to ‘popping into Derby’ which was very much nearer. Nearly all the houses in the vicinity had extremely large gardens which housed a variety of poultry and pigeons; a Polish gentleman in nearby Lyndhurst Grove even had a small flock of sheep.

Adjoining the Drive was Cleveland Avenue which was where I eventually bought a property myself, after a short exile in Smalley village. It had been built a few years after St John’s and consisted mainly of detached properties. Two houses at the northernmost end still had pig sties, even though they had been disused for years and were certainly without occupants during my time in the locality.

Our next door neighbour on St John's, Mrs Butler, had lived in the house for most of her adult life and had brought up five or six children there. She still turned out the most unbelievably copious and wonderful array of baking in the tiniest of kitchens; something that makes me smile today when I think of young women with large well appointed kitchens who can barely boil an egg. My father doubled the size of ours by converting the adjacent brick coal house and you would have still been hard pressed to swing a cat.

When Mrs B had swopped the Staffordshire moorlands for St John’s, cattle still grazed at the end of the garden and it was open countryside virtually all the way to Ilkeston and Heanor beyond. Sometimes she would glance towards Cleveland and its ‘new’ residents and properties and murmur, ‘some of them round there really think they’re it!‘ Her husband had been a ‘Master butcher’, a term never heard these days. In fact older Derbyshire ladies in those days often referred to their husbands as ‘the master’- I just cannot imagine today’s ‘Cosmopolitan’ and ‘Heat’ magazine influenced females referring to their partners as Master.

St John’s Avenue which led on from the Drive had its own tennis courts for residents. Inevitably the land has been occupied by bungalows; no doubt nice residences but a shame that such a lovely facility has succumbed to modern living. In those days few ordinary families possessed a car, so the presence of Olivant and Rains’ shop and Post Office on Nottingham Road and the adjacent Co-op store were where most did their daily and weekly shopping. Far away Derby was still a good bus ride away, and shopping bags had to be carried and uphill too! – up Cherry Tree Hill, in fact.

Where Sunny Grove now runs continuously through was truncated by a Spinney and over the road was Chaddesden Park which in essence made it a direct run from open countryside near Morley right up to our back door - no wonder we were oft visited by wildlife. Our Scout hut on Meadow Lane even boasted a stuffed Otter caught in the twenties in Chaddesden Brook.

At the corner of Lyndhurst Grove and Nottingham Road lay another retail emporium – Willy Bates corner shop and off licence. In over a decade I only made one excursion during daylight hours into the old fashioned and rather dingy shop and am sure it didn’t stock what I needed anyway. In fact I never knew anyone who had ever actually purchased anything there. The other part of the enterprise however was a different story – at night, the tiny ‘beer off’ came to life and was often packed. It was an establishment where chocolate and crisps and pop were readily found, in addition to a variety of alcoholic beverages including ‘sherry from the wood’. Our visiting relatives from the north east valued its existence and it was possible to extract from its shelves, bottles of the now extinct and delightful Newcastle Amber Ale, which my father knowledgably informed me was known by shipyard workers as ‘apprentices beer’.

Willy Bates' corner shop on Lyndhurst Grove c.1936. [Peter Cholerton's collection]

A mobile butcher's van from West Hallam did the rounds every Wednesday and kept us supplied with sausages and the weekend joint. Young Jimmy, the driver with his striped apron, had a regular circuit supplying the surrounding area and villages and Mrs Butler who knew a thing or two about meat as well as baking, heartily endorsed the quality of his produce although she was heard to state on occasions that sometimes it was a bit ‘pricey’. With a small hardware shop placed just over the Nottingham Road that sold paraffin and supplied my father’s insatiable appetite for nails and screws and Jackson’s newsagent’s on the corner of Lime Grove, everyone’s needs were met without continuously backing out cars from garages and off drives which is the norm these days.

Ernie Jackson who supplied everyone with their ‘Evening Telegraph’ and monochrome ‘Radio Times’ was a superb engineer and like myself, had I believe, come to the area at the start of his teens. In his case though, it was to undertake an apprenticeship with the exalted Midland Railway Company. The Midland was unusual in that it was a major railway without a London HQ, its base, administration and far reaching empire’s control being firmly set in Derby. In Victorian and Edwardian times it set the standards that others could only try to emulate. E.Jackson esquire having been trained by them was of a similar persuasion and had high standards. His large detached house placed at the top of Lime Grove has now disappeared - half a dozen other dwellings occupy the site. It had once sported a miniature rail track to test his hand built model locos; exact scaled down steaming replicas of Derby’s finest designs. Like all enthusiasts and many former railwaymen he had time for most engines, but left you in no doubt that anything constructed at Crewe or anywhere else was much inferior to Derby designed and built examples of motive power. Above the shop were a number of rooms, one was a store room that also was home to his model engineering exhibits, whilst the largest room featured an immense ‘00’ gauge model railway layout.

Just after the war, along with some other model enthusiasts, Ernie built a miniature race track on waste ground at the top of Raynesway where a nursing home now stands and put on the regular equivalent of a grand-prix. It was a popular venue on Sunday mornings when a free display was provided for all, until it was stopped by the small minded attitude of the Town Planning Department. On winter evenings my older rail fan pal Mick, who lived a couple of doors away from the shop and myself, went around assisting the maestro with his layout – we often fell short in terms of excellence. Ernie built his own locos and track, all to perfection, it was difficult to gauge which smoked more continuously, himself or his soldering iron; often in an eve his pal Les would come through the upstairs door to the adjoining property and we would all enjoy a cup of tea. Les’s passion was growing chrysanthemum; my grandfather on his numerous sorties from Tyneside was no mean gardener himself but was in pure rapture over the marvellous blooms portrayed at side of the entrance used by the paper boys. He consoled himself with short Barton bus rides up the A52 to secure the ’best rose bushes in England’ from the nurseries in Stapleford and Sandiacre.

The land all around Cherry Tree hill stretching down towards the canal, including the old farm and the extensive railway sidings had all been at one time owned by the Midland Railway; from my bedroom window, particularly on summer evenings I could hear the distant clanking of wagons being shunted and the rasping bark of steam locos easing freight trains away from Chaddesden to points all over the UK. Today the A52 covers the former goods lines and even the most industrious student of industrial archaeology would be hard pressed to trace the route of the old Derby - Borrowash canal which was overgrown and alongside. My uncle, a Scot who lived near the Park, like me had acquired a great love of Derbyshire and its people. He had come to Derby in wartime prior to overseas posting and had met and married my aunt - a Derby girl. In addition to his full time occupation he assisted Derby’s world renowned cycle company, the legendary ‘Mercian’, and for my fourteenth birthday was instrumental in the provision of a second hand racer so that I could tour more of the county. In the sixties when I used to cycle up to Mansfield to visit my mate from the Notts and Derbys Railway Circle, I would wend my way through Chadd and up Morley Rd and rarely see a soul until I hit the outskirts of Heanor. There was no route from Raynesway towards Oakwood in those days. Then, there was no Oakwood at all, just Chaddesden Common as it was termed. A place I remember only too well as an irate farmer once chased me off his land for cuddling under an oak tree with an early girlfriend. One day, shortly before England secured the World Cup in ’66, I walked to school as normal, past the Enoch Stone where the unfortunate chap was murdered, on by the Old Creamery and through the fields where I was accompanied by a gathering of rather frisky cattle. I stopped to gaze from the high ground over the dip below where the railway flanked the Derwent and the old canal bed. One of Britain’s last steam engines was creating a plume of smoke all the way from Raynesway Bridge to Celanese. On my mini transistor radio, ‘The Who’ were blasting out ‘My Generation’ and the square modernist form of the newly built Spondon House school loomed large, barely a furlong away. I clearly recall thinking, these are modern times; can it get more modern, what else can change? Four decades plus, I have my answer. Yes, like all of Britain, Cherry Tree Hill and surrounds have changed immensely and will surely change again. I still have my memories though – and they are certainly good ones!

Comments

Stephen Liddle commented in 2012:
Born 1947 and lived in Albert Road until I moved with my parents to Newbiggin by the Sea, Northumberland on Xmas Eve 1957. Very fond memories of Chaddesden and my time at Cherry Tree Hill School. Also playing along the canal and Raynesway. My daughter now lives in Derbyshire and when I visit I feel the pull to visit Chaddesden and the park. I will always be a Midlander.

Stephen Brown commented:
I remember this area well, it was where I grew up. We lived between Bates's off licence and the post office on Nottingham Road. As kids we would play in the old air raid shelters at Cherry Tree Hill junior school and in the small spinney that existed until they connected the two parts of Sunny Grove. I remember the fields that were swallowed up by Albert Road estate, another place we would play near the remnants of the canal. Those opportunities for cheap and free adventure exist no longer and what a shame.

Becky Burnett commented:
This is all very familiar to me. Our family have lived on St. John's Avenue since the late 1930's. My grandma rented the house until my dad bought it in 1950. He remained until his death and then we bought the house on 1990. I have recently got hold of all the old deeds and mortgages of the two previous owners.

Our house was actually in Spondon until the borders where changed and Cleveland Avenue was in Chaddesden. All the houses were named, not numbered, ours was Brean House.

I remember the old tennis courts and the derelict old house that belonged to the doctor. We used to play there as children in the 60's and 70's. When the 'new' bungalows were built it put a stop to that though!

Jonty Willis commented:
I loved reading this piece, having moved to St. John's Avenue in '58 at the age of 2 and leaving in '72 it brought back many happy memories. Playing cowboys and Indians in the allotments that were next to the tennis courts and as I got older innocent mischief down by the canal and putting pennies on the railway track for the trains to squash. Also the sad site of steam locos queuing up going under Raynesway to be scrapped when diesel became king of the rails.

As children we thought it hilarious when Mrs. Bates referred to her husband as Master Bates!

Cherry Tree Hill junior school had air raid shelters next to the playground when I went there, but not many kids dared to go down to explore them. We also used to be told by the older boys that there was a 'savage' who lived in the spinney, but we never saw him.

After I left, the house next door, belonging first to Mr. Jones, a wine merchant, and later Dr. Anderson, was demolished for an access road through to build the new housing on the former tennis courts and allotments.