Wigan Album

Miss Greenwood, Christian name was Vera. She is immortalized by having a road named, Queen Vera Road, in Blackpool. It is extremely hard to find. If you are in Blackpool, it is off Market Street, just before reaching the rear of the indoor market. There is a plaque erected explaining the story.

I started work at Lowes in 1960 . I wrote the following light heart story for
PAST FORWARD a few years ago.
I leave home in a very nervous state. I've been awake half the night wondering what the day would bring? Would the men be nice? Would I be able to come home at dinner (lunch for southern cousins)? My Mother made the morning more anxious, ‘Have you got a clean handkerchief?’; ‘Have you cleaned your shoes?’; ‘Have you got your dinner money? (...interpretation time again...).

’Mam’, I yell back, ’Stop fussing I'll be alright if you'll just stop fussing, please. I'm not bothered at all about going to work. It's just you keep going on,’ which of course is a complete lie. I don't think I have ever felt so scared in my life.

I start my journey into the world. I had secured a job at Lowe’s – a very posh department store – a week before. I would be an apprentice carpet fitter, considered a very good trade in those days. I felt very fortunate to have landed a position in such a prestigious establishment.


As I near the emporium I start to wish I hadn't been so fortunate. I think a less posh place of work would have suited me better. I'm from a mining family but from my earliest days it had been drilled into me, ‘You’re not going down the pit’. My Dad had been hurt in a pit fall and my Grandfather had lost a leg in similar circumstances. But if not there, where? The world certainly wasn't my oyster. In the mile or so walk from home to shop I convince myself once again that I am indeed fortuitous.

On reaching the Market Square, I look up at the imposing edifice that was Lowe's Victoria House, a cathedral to poshness. Even though I caught the bus to school outside it every day for four years I never dared enter; until I went for an interview. Mr Lowe said my well written letter had impressed him. I had enough nous not say my sister helped me.In truth she had written it and I merely copied the missive. My Mother likewise had never entered the hallowed halls, nor I expect the vast majority of my extended family; far too grand for the likes of us! As I gaze up, summoning courage to enter, I start to worry again. But here goes.

At the interview I was told my start time would be eight in the morning but on the first day I would be met by Mr Marshall, Furnishing Workroom Manager, and he would introduce me to the staff. I enter the building just as the Parish Church clock chimes. A tall distinguished looking man approaches me, ‘Are you our new recruit’, he asks in a decidedly officer-type accent. ‘Yes, Sir’, I mumble, trying to keep my voice as low as possible. It rises three octaves in a stressful situation. ‘No need for sir, you’re not at school now. Mr Marshall will do nicely’, he says in a firm way. We take the lift to the top floor, I relived that we don't use the stairs as I imagine everybody is looking at me and wondering how I'II fit in. worse still, if I'II fit in.

We reach the workroom and it’s all very formal, as was everything at Lowe’s. I shake hands with all the seven carpet fitters and the four lady seamstresses. The ladies are all lovely and do everything to make me feel at ease. One in particular seems to take a shine to me, Betty, who I discover lives near to me. We walk home together every day and she becomes a confidant and trusted adviser on workroom politics. We are great friends to this day; a few years latter we are to share the same surname when she marries my cousin Jim. What a small world Wigan is! All the men seem very friendly and welcoming apart from one who seemed less than pleased to see me. I shan't name him in case he still roams the planet. I learn later that it was nothing personal; he drinks heavily every weekend and is in a foul mood on Monday mornings.

We reach the workroom and it’s all very formal, as was everything at Lowe’s. I shake hands with all the seven carpet fitters and the four lady seamstresses. The ladies are all lovely and do everything to make me feel at ease. One in particular seems to take a shine to me, Betty, who I discover lives near to me. We walk home together every day and she becomes a confidant and trusted adviser on workroom politics. We are great friends to this day; a few years latter we are to share the same surname when she marries my cousin Jim. What a small world Wigan is! All the men seem very friendly and welcoming apart from one who seemed less than pleased to see me. I shan't name him in case he still roams the planet. I learn later that it was nothing personal; he drinks heavily every weekend and is in a foul mood on Monday mornings.

That first day seemed everlasting. My first duty was to go for toast at The UCP (United Cattle Products); they had a cafeteria at the That first day seemed everlasting. My first duty was to go for toast at The UCP (United Cattle Products); they had a cafeteria at the back of the shop, a strange combination with tripe at the front and tea and toast at the rear. But that’s how it was and I was to become a frequent customer, going for morning snacks for colleagues. On this first visit I got flummoxed and the biggest mix-up was with the fitter with the hangover who seemed in an even more aggressive mood as the day went on. He threatens to thump me if I ever get his order wrong again. ‘He's only joking – he's as soft as my pocket underneath’, says Betty trying to reassure me. I am not so certain. He has a mean look and I imagine that a smile has never visited his thin angry lips. I remember thinking I hope he doesn't frequent his local this week and that his disposition changes with sobriety. Whilst he appeared slightly more approachable later back of the shop, a strange combination with tripe at the front and tea and toast at the rear. But that’s how it was and I was to become a frequent customer, going for morning snacks for colleagues. On this first visit I got flummoxed and the biggest mix-up was with the fitter with the hangover who seemed in an even more aggressive mood as the day went on. He threatens to thump me if I ever get his order wrong again. ‘He's only joking – he's as soft as my pocket underneath’, says Betty trying to reassure me. I am not so certain. He has a mean look and I imagine that a smile has never visited his thin angry lips. I remember thinking I hope he doesn't frequent his local this week and that his disposition changes with sobriety. Whilst he appeared slightly more approachable later he was always disagreeable and once carried out his threat to punch me when I got his order wrong from the Millgate Chippy. I've never seen him since leaving Lowe’s and I feel I would prefer a meeting with Lucifer than an encounter with him. Please forgive the hyperbole, I feel I would prefer a meeting with Lucifer than an encounter with him. Please forgive the hyperbole.

Mr Marshall greets me as I enter the shop bang on one o’clock. On my first day I had decided to go home for lunch – the poshness is rubbing off already. Mr Marshall tells me in no uncertain terms that a one o'clock start means just that, ‘Sorry sir, Mr Marshall’, I utter in a pitch as high as a violin, nerves doing their best to make me look and sound ridiculous. ‘Don't let it happen again or you'll be looking for another job’, he says in the brusque manner that was his way. I half expected him to follow it up with, ‘And you'll leave without references’,Mr Marshall’, I utter in a pitch as high as a violin, nerves doing their best to make me look and sound ridiculous. ‘Don't let it happen again or you'll be looking for another job’, he says in the brusque manner that was his way. I half expected him to follow it up with, ‘And you'll leave without references’,so Victorian did he and the whole store seem on that first day.

So much for the formality of the first day, and my time at The Cathedral has stayed with me for the rest of my life, even down to the handshakes – nothing like a modern high-five by way of greeting! But it was that very attitude that later I came to accept and I actually came to like – and traces of this old fashioned way of doing things are with me to this day!

Correction. The street mentioned, Market Street, is wrong, it is Edward Street. The associated facts are correct. I apologize for the mistake.

Brilliant story, Tom! I remember you telling me about the ghost, too.

Remember well reading the story in Past Forward Tom! You have a wonderful memory of a more gentle time (apart from the grumpy carpet fitter) there was always great Wigan characters to meet during our working lives -usually the older generation I found!

So many of us remember and carry in our hearts such happy memories.

I wish my sister was still with us to read your story Tom, She was Eileen Mcdonald (Mrs Mac ) to all the staff, she was the Book keeper as there were no computers in those days, She lived for that shop & was proud to say she worked there, You may have known her Tom but sadly she passed away 5 years ago,

Published in the Blackpool Gazette on Tuesday 10 June 2003

KING COTTON'S LAST QUEEN WILL LIVE ON

A former cotton mill queen immortalised in a Blackpool street name has died. Vera Bunn (née Greenwood) was a 17-year-old working at the Dura Mill in Whitworth, near Rochdale, when she was named Cotton Queen of Great Britain in 1937. The great-grandmother died at her home on Brockholes Crescent, Poulton, last Wednesday, aged 83. She had suffered a stroke. But her name will live on as the address of a tiny cul-de-sac off Edward Street in Blackpool town centre. According to Vera's daughter Sharon Ashworth, Queen Vera Road, behind Abingdon Street Market, was named in honour of her mum by stallholders whom Vera visited following a refurbishment of the market. Sharon said: "When mum was the cotton queen she travelled all over the country representing the cotton industry. ”Each mill put forward an entry and the competition to choose the queen was held in Blackpool. Mum ended up doing it for two years running because the girl who should have followed was ill and couldn't do it. After that they didn't have another one because of the war so mum was the last one ever." After leaving the cotton industry, Vera worked at Lewis's department store. Her first husband was Noel Dixon, a first-class standard cricketer, by whom she had three children: Christine, who died earlier this year, Sharon and Michael. Following Noel's death Vera, who moved to Blackpool in 1968, married her second husband Harry, who died in 1990. She also had a step-daughter Jackie. Vera leaves 11 grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren. Her funeral will be on Wednesday at 1.30pm at Carleton Crematorium.

My lasting memory of Lowes was being taken as a small boy to see Father Christmas arrive and him climbing a ladder to the store. An annual event those days

Very posh shop.On one occasion as a very little boy when nobody was looking,tried to look under one of the mannequins skirts,just from innocence and curiosity; my mum caught me and didn't half tell me off !!