Confessions of a barrow boy in days when the market hummed
Bygones regular Brian Stubbs recalls the year he spent working on Kilford’s fruit and vegetable stall
FOR centuries, Derby Market Place had been the centre of the community but, as the years passed, it became inadequate for the increasing number of people that came in from surrounding areas to buy or sell their wares.
Market days were becoming chaotic and in the late 1820s, it was decided to create a new area, situated behind the recently-built Town Hall. It was to have space for 100 shops, including covered stalls for the fruit and vegetable sellers and would have three entrances.
The main one was via an archway at the front of the Town Hall. From the Cornmarket, it could be accessed through the Tiger Yard, adjacent to the Tiger Inn and there was an eastern entrance from the Morledge.
In 1830 the market opened and, for a few years served its purpose well. But by the early 1840s, the old problem of overcrowding caused it to be heavily criticised, with one newspaper describing it as being: “Crowded with stalls, shops and shambles – but the building is too small and the public were seriously inconvenienced.”
In 1844 , the council resolved to plan for its reconstruction. Over the next few years, several properties were purchased, including the famous Angel Inn – but many more years passed before they were demolished and work on a new market begun. In fact, it had taken 20 years before the council decided to adopt plans for a self-contained covered market, to be called Derby Market Hall.
Before laying the foundation stone in February 1864, the Mayor, Thomas Roe, said: “When completed, this hall will be one of the finest in the Midland Counties.”
By July, the walls had been completed and was ready for work to begin on its great iron roof but another delay loomed as it was discovered that, in fact, the weight of the roof would be too much for the rest of the structure and raised serious safety issues. The council had to employ an eminent London engineer to help redesign it.
Eventually, work restarted and, by March 1866, the Market Hall was nearing completion. Before any stalls were fitted, the council allowed the newly-formed Derby Volunteer Band to hold an evening concert inside the hall, which would be lit by gaslight.
It was a huge success with more than 2,000 people attending and getting a first look at their new market. The concert was a prelude to the inauguration ceremony that was due to begin on May 29. The three weeks of celebrations that followed eclipsed even those that followed the opening of the Arboretum in 1840.
May 29 was a fine sunny day and many tradespeople in Derby closed for a half day holiday and made their way to the Market Place to get a view of the many bands lining up ready to start the procession. At 11am, the bands marched out of the Market Place and up towards the Spot, where they turned round and went back via the Cornmarket before entering the Market Hall through the Town Hall archway.
After declaring the hall open, the Mayor announced that a performance of Handel’s Messiah would follow. A stage had been constructed for the orchestra, including a large organ, and the 500-strong choir.
The performance was so successful it inspired several of the local people who had sung in it to form the Derby Choral Union. With the Duke of Devonshire as its president, it went on to a long and illustrious history as Derby’s premier choir. After the opening concert, the main guests were escorted to the Royal Hotel, where the Mayor’s banquet took place.
During the following three weeks, entertainment of all kinds took place in the Market Hall as part of the celebrations – including jugglers, dancers and acrobats.
What was described as “A Monster Tea Party” was held inside the hall, which attracted 1,200 people. They sat at the many tables laid out around the floor space and were attended on by a host of waiters,
who darted in and out of the side shops, their trays laden with tea and cakes.
It was estimated that, during these celebrations, more than 25,000 men, women and children attended the various events at this already famous building. No wonder locals began to refer to it as “The Music Hall”.
Over the next 150 years, hundreds of thousands of people would shop in the Market Hall, and many thousands would have fond memories of working there: here are mine.
My mother had been working for the Kilford’s fruit and vegetable stall in the hall, for a year or so, when, in 1963, I persuaded her to ask Mr Kilford, if I could be considered for a Saturday job as a barrow boy.
My request coincided with his boy being about to leave and so he offered me the job – provided I got the necessary permit from a doctor, because, at 13 years of age, I was still a minor.
An appointment was made at the doctors and I spent a sleepless night, anticipating a battery of tests, the following morning.
However, after being asked a few questions about the work, the doctor simply sounded my chest with his stethoscope, without me having to remove my jumper or my shirt. He gave me my temporary work permit without comment and so, the following Saturday morning, I travelled with my mother by bus into town to start my working life in Derby Market Hall.
We entered the market via Lock Up Yard, with the Tiger Inn on the left hand side and several fishmongers stalls, on the right. Just before reaching the entrance, one of the fishmongers shouted across to me, in a loud voice: “Morning Freddie, where are the Dreamers”
I felt my face burning bright red as I quickly disappeared inside. Freddie, was a reference to Freddie Garrity, lead singer in a very popular Liverpudlian group at the time, called Freddie and the Dreamers.
Freddie was notable for having unkept, black, curly hair and he wore thick-framed black glasses, not unlike myself!
For several Saturday mornings, I had the same welcome but, one day on coming through the yard, I was greeted with a friendly, “Morning”.
I had been accepted into the Market Hall family!
On my first Saturday, I was introduced to Mr Kilford, who arranged for his son, Alan, to show me where the lock up was for the stall and to put me to work.
He led me out of the Albert Street entrance and immediately on the right was a large yard, running from the back of the shops along Albert Street, on one side, to the Cornmarket on the other.
Our lock-up was located at the rear of what is now the Cancer Research Charity Shop.
Alan led me to some large boxes of cauliflowers which needed their leaves trimming back so that the florets would be seen to their best advantage.
After doing a couple himself, he handed a knife over to me and asked me to carry on, as he had to go across to the open market, then situated next to the bus station, where he managed Kilfords’ other stall.
IT was while I was tentatively cutting one of the cauliflowers, that I first met Derek, a young man of about 18 years old, who worked for Woodhouses, who had the two largest fruit and vegetable stalls in the market, and were noted for their quality and presentation.
Derek had introduced himself by hurling a squashed tomato at the open door of my lock-up. He shouted that I was allowed to throw tomatoes back at him. He was a cheerful young man and we got on straight away. This was the start of the ‘The Tomato Wars,’ that lasted for the duration of my time at the Market Hall.
I was given a wooden, twowheeled sack barrow to bring the fruit and vegetables from the lock-up to Kilfords stall. Derek had a large four-wheeled cart to haul Woodhouses stock backwards and forwards, across the courtyard.
On one occasion, while he was pulling a cart full of full apple boxes past me, one of the wheels dropped into a deep rut and caused the cart to lurch violently, depositing hundreds of apples all over the yard, I stood there gawping until Derek looked over and shouted: “I thought you were my mate, are you going to help me pick this lot up?”
It took us a good half hour to pick up every last one and put them back in the boxes.
I don’t know whether his boss ever found out about the incident as I’m sure several of the apples would have had a few bruises and certainly wouldn’t have been put on sale.
On rare occasions, when Derek wasn’t in a particularly good mood, or was in a rush, he wouldn’t return my opening tomato shot and, on hearing the ‘splat’ against his cart, would simply ignore it, and continue on his way, leaving me with another, partially squashed tomato, trickling juice, through my fingers.
A typical Saturday morning would begin around 8am when after rolling back the tarpaulin from the front of the stall, I would be told what needed bringing from the lock up, usually potatoes and onions.
Once collected, I would help in unloading them for display. Looking back, it amazes me that, not being particularly muscular, I was able to lift the 28lb sacks, as today, I struggle to lift a bag of sugar!
By mid- morning, we were usually fairly busy and the noise level in the market would increase. And the ‘buzz’ would continue all day ,until closing time. At around 11 o’clock, I was usually sent to one of the cafes with a large jug to have it filled with strong tea. Carefully taking it back through the crowd, we’d all enjoy a quick cuppa.
Most Saturdays I would be asked to take a large bag of onions up to the Locarno Dance Hall, on Babington Lane.
The outward trip would see me weaving in and out, between shoppers, as I made my way up St Peters Street and onto Babington Lane. The front door was left open for me and it always amazed me how the daylight and the hustle and bustle outside disappeared as I entered the building and pushed my barrow across the dance floor, with the mirror balls, scattering reflections around me, even in that dim light.
To my eyes, at that time, it all seemed quite magical!
After dropping off the bag of onions , in the kitchen, behind the stage, I would trundle back across the floor and out into the real world again. It would be a few years before I visited this famous venue, on a more regular basis.
Because of my age, I was allowed an hour’s lunch break. Mr Kilford always gave me a half crown from the till to go and spend on getting something to eat. I would go straight out to the news kiosk and buy that week’s copy of the Beano comic, then into Uncle Tom’s Cabin, where I’d purchase two ham rolls, a piece of cake, and a cup of tea.
If it was a fine day, I’d drink the tea and then take the food over to the River Gardens, where I’d sit on a bench, eating and reading until it was time to go back to the Market Hall.
Looking after myself, just for that one hour, gave me a great sense of independence and I was always happy with the thought that I was allowed to keep any change from the half crown!
My mother was very good with people and got to know the customers quite well, one of whom, turned out to be my maths teacher at school. He would regularly turn to me in class and enquire after my mother’s health, (red face time again!)
The manager of Woodhouses made several attempts at trying to get my mother to work for him, as he would have noticed how fast and accurately she worked. I think she was offered more money than she was already getting, but she always refused, (I often wondered if Mr Kilford gave her a raise, to keep her). Either way, she remained loyal to Kilfords for several more years before getting a job at Ranby’s in Victoria Street.
Before clearing up at the end of the day, I’d be sent across to the open market to help Alan at the other stall. There was always plenty of rubbish and empty boxes which had to be taken and dropped into the gulley that ran between the end of the stalls and the council car park.
In winter, it was always chilly and I was very glad to get back to the Market Hall, where the covers were being pulled down on our stall.
After putting the barrow away in the lock-up, Mr Kilford would hand me my wages of 10 shillings. He usually gave me a ‘10-bob note,’ which always pleased me, as I loved the purple colour of this note and it seemed more substantial than if he gave me four half crowns, which left me feeling somehow, short changed.
After about a year, Derek left to do other things and the atmosphere was never the same after that so I finally decided to hang up my apron and called it a day on my barrow boy career.
I didn’t realise at the time but I think that year spent working in the Market Hall, left me with a sound work ethic, that stayed with me for the rest of my working life.
Many years later, I came across an old Post Office Savings book, where I’d put my wages from that first job.
I was surprised to see that there was still a balance of two shillings and sixpence, not enough then, to buy two ham rolls, cake, a cup of tea – and a copy of the Beano!