Local amenities

Today Phil and I set out to catch a bus at the crossroads about two or three minutes’ walk from our house. The bus was due to leave at 12.02. Knowing the vagaries of our local bus service well, we set off in plenty of time but had to run as we saw the bus leaving the stop at 11.59. After some pleading glances and furious pointing at watches, we managed to persuade the bus driver to open the doors and let us get on. He countered our complaints about his leaving early by pointing out that he had done us a favour by opening the doors at the crossroads, breaking various regulations. The fact remains that he was a good three minutes early, despite his protestations to the contrary. We were proved right when he stopped for a three minute period a few stops further along the road so that he was back on the correct schedule for the rest of his journey. 

These buses always used to come late, reliably late, consistently late. It was a surprise when they were on time. The problem is that the bus route simply covers too large an area and involves a number of detours onto housing estates to pick up people in out of the way places. Recently, however, one section of the route has changed, taking a back road – but still quite a major route in some ways – instead of the very over-used A62 route into town. It probably picks up more passengers on this new route but it does seem to have affected time keeping in the opposite direction and now the buses frequently arrive (and leave) early. And as buses are only every half hour – every hour after 6pm – we have got into the habit of being at the bus stop in plenty of time. Much time wasting and related grumbling have resulted from this. 

We were on the bus so that Phil could make the connection with the tram into Manchester and so that I could complete various errands. When we had our kitchen remodelled, years and years ago, we had fancy under-the-unit lights fitted, the sort that have tubes rather than light bulbs. When one of these expires it is the devil’s own job to find a replacement, not helped by the fact that I usually buy them in threes or fours and by the time I need to replenish stocks I have completely forgotten where I bought them. So the plan was to try Tesco, a “home goods” store just near the supermarket (and the closest thing we have to the Chinese shops of Vigo) and failing that Oldham Market. 

The first two let me down totally so I headed for the market hall. Another of my tasks was to try to have repairs done to our eldest granddaughter’s red leather satchel. Now this is not truly a satchel such as I had when I was in secondary school. Mine was a tough brown leather thing which started life new and shine when I was twelve and ended up battered and scratched when I was eighteen. No doubt, if I still possessed it I could sell it as vintage on E-bay and make a small fortune. No, the granddaughter’s red leather satchel is a fashion item. You see a lot of them around in a range of colours, including seasick green and neon pink. Unfortunately the granddaughter chose to use hers for the traditional satchel purpose and loaded it with far too many school books. For nowadays pupils do not seem to have desks or even lockers where they can leave stuff in school but have to carry masses of gear around with them. In all probability they will all suffer from dislocated shoulders and bad backs in the future. 

The result of using a satchel as a school bag and not as a receptacle for bits of makeup, a mobile phone and just possibly a purse was that the strap-attachment gave way under the strain. I had already carried out one small repair but this was too big a job for me. However, I knew that in Oldham’s Tommyfield Market was a traditional shoe-repairer’s stall. So that was where I went. 

 Oldham market has been there almost forever. The first market was founded there in 1788 and open markets were held in field belonging to a certain Thomas Whittaker: hence the name Tommyfield. The first purpose-built indoor market was erected in 1856 and was replaced in 1908 with the Victoria Market. Here’s a rather grainy picture from the 1960s. 

This was burned down in a rather spectacular fire in 1974, which I vaguely remember as by then I was a young teacher in Oldham. Great consternation was expressed throughout the town. What would they do without the market? A temporary building was put up until a smart new market hall was finally built in the 1990s and renamed: Tommyfield Market

The open market is a bit of a sorry affair these days, open three days a week with some of that dedicated to second-hand goods and flea markets. The indoor market, on the other hand, seems to be holding its own quite well with good fruit stalls and cheese stalls along with one of the few places where you can buy knitting wool without it having to some fancy designer yarn that costs an arm and a leg. 

Anyway, it was to the traditional cobbler’s stall (open since 1890 something) that I went. I arranged for the red leather satchel to be patched and stitched and then asked, as the stall holder knows every other stall on the market, where I could get watch batteries replaced at a reasonable price. Right here, was the reply. Jolly good, thought I. Next question: is there anywhere on the market where I can buy tubes for my kitchen light. Well, yes, as it turned out. So I followed the directions given and found a man who sold me a stock of fluorescent tubes. Hooray! Then it was back to the cobbler’s to collect the watches whose batteries had been replaced. 

As I waited, eavesdropping on the conversation going on between the stall holder and his customers, I realised that I knew the customer in question. This was someone I used to work with back in the 1970s, around the time of the Great Fire of Oldham Market. So we caught up on what we had been up to in the intervening thirty-odd years. Small world syndrome struck again. 

After my old friend and his wife had gone the cobbler’s wife filled me in on a bit of gossip. It turns out that my friend’s wife had been adopted and had only recently been able to trace her twin sister, unfortunately only after the twin’s death. They wanted to cobbler to produce a traditional metal memorial plate to add to her grave. The cobbler’s wife says she hears everyone’s stories. She fears that internet shopping and the pace of the electronic-communication-obsessed world we are increasingly living in will put an end to this. 

She might be right. Long live the old traditional markets.