Anything to do with Garston, in my eyes, is fabulous, so through biased specs - great post.
Were you a towner or under the bridger, mate? Calthorpe Street don't ring a bell, to me.
Under the Bridge
Brunswick Street 0-4
Calthorpe Street 4-6 (park end behind library)
Condor Close 6-8 (behind market opposite Home Guard)
One Nan lived in Hackstead Gradens, the other above Dunn's Chippy, Western Avenue Speke
Aunt Queenie still lives in Island Road, Garston.
My memories of Garston are very vivid.
A walk down St Mary's Road and Under the bridge last year reduced me to tears.
All my memories have been bulldozed away.
Garston Baths, The wash house, The Mona Castle, even the old T&GWU sandstone building has gone which was a listed building.
That was were my Dad got his new job mentioned.
I remember the old tram turntable outside the dole.
I remember the old cottages down Banks road.
They appear to have been replaced by new and have since been burnt out and boarded up.
Memories of walking from Condor Close to my Nan's in Speke are still vivid
Walking over the bridge, passed the Gay Cav, Speke Road Gardens (better known as The Tennies) passed The Matchworks and Fire Engine Depot on the corner.
Passed Speke Airport (which I still insist was in Garston)
The Metal Box, Evans Medical and then down Western Avenue.
I always remember me Mam telling me to run to Grandads from the roundabout halfway down.
I used to run straight to The Pegasus and I was never wrong, he was always there on a Sunday.
One fellah mentioned an Uncle who wasn't and an Aunt.
The qualifications for above status has changed greatly over the years.
Nowadays its a brother or sister of your Mum and Dad.
In those days anyone who lived within 200 yards or met your Dad for a pint was an Uncle.
My Uncle Gerry mentioned above, was my favourite Uncle for years.
I only found out he was just a friend many years later.
daft it may be, but I still call him Uncle just as I do many others.
Garston was just "One big happy family" in those days.
As were many areas in Liverpool.
Reading stories from Evo and Robbie Ashcroft, always have me in stitches.
Especially Evo's stories of running the Pawny (also known as Uncles)
Reminiscing of previous decades often draws criticism, but in 40 years when I'm at the bottom of the Mersey, I bet the youth of today are talking about The French and Spanish geezer with just as much fondness.
Lighter note
Speaking to my missus recently about throwing my ashes in the Mersey at the Pier head or off the Ferry.
She said you'll regret it
I looked at her puzzled
She said "Pound to a piece of pigshit, you'll float down river and end up under the bridge at Runcorn"
The shiver that run down my spine was frightening.