Good evening to all — just sat here with some soul CD on (sorry OVO folk!) and a few cans of ale, reminiscing about my youth, and thought I would share with anyone who has 5-10 mins to spare to read — apologies for the length

The time — 1981 — I had just left school in my home town of Hull and full of a yearning for freedom, adventure and new experiences — wanted to throw off the yoke of my first job (which had already bored the shite out of me) and spread my wings.

First admission — I NEVER WENT TO WIGAN CASINO......phew, that was cathartic — I know thousands did visit that magical place, but also get the feeling many who didn’t attend like to lay claim to being a regular — at the age I was when it was at its zenith, my parents wouldn’t have stood for that, although some of my school age peers used to go on the coaches that left Hull, and I am sure if you were a young un who lived closer you may have frequented the place — I know I wish I had, but I didn’t so that’s that.

I used to hear all the records the elder Hull folk brought back at house parties, and watch them dance, fascinated — a far cry from the stuff that passed for Northern at the youth club.

A mate of mine, who had been to the Casino, told me about a place in Rotherham, and did I fancy hitching it there with him — I agreed, so on that eponymous Friday night in 1981 I set off, clad in a pair of Jumbo cords, a t-shirt under a Slazenger jumper, and that most functional of dance footwear — NOT — Kios (Stan Smith copy but in Burgundy)
I remember our first lift, a boring (although we WERE grateful) old fella who regaled us with complaints about the noise levels of music nowadays — he was going as far as Thorne near Doncaster and dropped us off near a bridge over the road — before that night we didn’t know Thorne existed, but found a chippy and then a bus that went to Donny — then got a connecting one to Rotherham.
One thing that absolutely flipped us was that in S.Yorks, you could go miles on a bus for 2p (public transport must have been subsidised) — amazing but a right Brucie Bonus when you were on YOP wages (I use the term loosely) of ~£27 a week.
 

We arrived at Clifton Hall after walking up the hill/slope, paid in and, although I didn’t know it at the time, I experienced a musical epiphany — a dimly lit hall with chairs and tables around the dancing area and NO MIRROR BALLS!

I recall going for a lag and being amazed at all these older chaps stripping, washing and changing their tops after a spray of Brut — I wouldn’t have even been noticed by these old hands - jeez, anyone with a tache was a 'mister' at that age, but I was keenly clocking fashions etc, vests, flares, shoes, so different to what I was wearing — I can still vividly recall one lad with the legend ‘Yorkshire Born, Yorkshire Bred, Strong in the Arm and Good in Bed’ in a scroll down his upper arm — class wording I thought and made me inwardly chuckle at the time.

And so began a love affair with the venue, and the music, that still burns strong over 3 decades later (as if anyone on this forum needs that pointing out — talk about ‘preaching to the converted!’)
 

Unsullied by any musical prejudices — I knew NOTHING — I would happily try and move on the floor to anything that caught my ear — a mix as eclectic as;

Leon Bryant — Mighty Body (Hotsy Totsy)

Daybreak — I need Love
Billy Nicholls — Diamond Rings
TR5 — Cant wait much longer
Moses Dillard — Pretty as a picture

Pat Lewis — No-one to love

 

I could watch good dancers all night — kept ourselves to ourselves mostly, but one lass I do remember was  a short haired girl called Diane from Chesterfield — she had a unique dancing style that earned her the sobriquet ‘the Chesterfield Chicken’ not in a nasty way may I hasten to add, she was an attractive lass and an ‘older woman’ to us, although probably only in her early-mid 20’s at the time.

I was also introduced to gear at that age — one of the faces from Hull who attended handed me a handful of pills one night and told me to go and take them, they’d keep me ‘up’ all night — being naturally cautious I took one and pocketed the rest, although the official line was that I’d ‘done em all’ for bravado — that approach allowed me to gauge my tolerance and what level of ‘assistance’ I needed without blindly being too off my tits to appreciate the music.

We met good young lads from Sheffield & Boro at these nighters, like us they were ‘proto-casuals’ with an interest in terrace culture and we stood out with our fledgling wedge hairstyles and mode of dress.

Some of the escapades we had hitching were, looking back on them, quite harum scarum — ranging from a car load of big miner types pulling up on the M18 and shouting ‘GET IN THIS CAR NOW!’ — me and my mate thought we were being kidnapped and imagined all sorts done to us — they were good as gold and just wanted to prevent us getting nicked for thumbing it on the motorway — to the time an artic lorry driver let us in the back with his cargo — a load of massive wooden packing crates with metal corners, that weren’t secured and flew across the container toward us every time we turned a corner — was like a game of human pinball in there and 2 very relieved young lads when he let us out.

I have never collected records, couldn’t tell you the catalogue numbers of rare releases, would never be in the ‘top dancer’ category, but I still listen to a couple of hours rare soul EVERY day, and would say that my love for this music of ours is the equal of anyone — apart from my family I have never found anything that fills my life with so much happiness and fulfilment — on a dance floor, eyes closed in rhapsody and achieving something akin to ‘communion’ with the music like a Sufi mystic — I can only pay homage to the fates that led me to the altar of my youthful worship — CLIFTON HALL — are the times different? — inevitably — would I like any of my sons hitching across the North in search of youthful high-jinks — well yeah, but I’d worry sick........oh, and if I could find the couple who were heading to Batley market one Saturday morning and found two drenched and shivering urchins under a motorway bridge and decided they could just as well go to Withernsea market instead (just to give us a lift home) — I would shake your hand with gratitude undiminished by the years — what a lovely act of selflessness.

Thank you to anyone who has persevered — Clifton Hall memories may have been done to death on here before — if so apologies for my variation on a theme

 

 

Good evening to all — just sat here with some soul CD on (sorry OVO folk!) and a few cans of ale, reminiscing about my youth, and thought I would share with anyone who has 5-10 mins to spare to read — apologies for the length

The time — 1981 — I had just left school in my home town of Hull and full of a yearning for freedom, adventure and new experiences — wanted to throw off the yoke of my first job (which had already bored the shite out of me) and spread my wings.

First admission — I NEVER WENT TO WIGAN CASINO......phew, that was cathartic — I know thousands did visit that magical place, but also get the feeling many who didn’t attend like to lay claim to being a regular — at the age I was when it was at its zenith, my parents wouldn’t have stood for that, although some of my school age peers used to go on the coaches that left Hull, and I am sure if you were a young un who lived closer you may have frequented the place — I know I wish I had, but I didn’t so that’s that.

I used to hear all the records the elder Hull folk brought back at house parties, and watch them dance, fascinated — a far cry from the stuff that passed for Northern at the youth club.

A mate of mine, who had been to the Casino, told me about a place in Rotherham, and did I fancy hitching it there with him — I agreed, so on that eponymous Friday night in 1981 I set off, clad in a pair of Jumbo cords, a t-shirt under a Slazenger jumper, and that most functional of dance footwear — NOT — Kios (Stan Smith copy but in Burgundy)

I remember our first lift, a boring (although we WERE grateful) old fella who regaled us with complaints about the noise levels of music nowadays — he was going as far as Thorne near Doncaster and dropped us off near a bridge over the road — before that night we didn’t know Thorne existed, but found a chippy and then a bus that went to Donny — then got a connecting one to Rotherham.

One thing that absolutely flipped us was that in S.Yorks, you could go miles on a bus for 2p (public transport must have been subsidised) — amazing but a right Brucie Bonus when you were on YOP wages (I use the term loosely) of ~£27 a week.

 

We arrived at Clifton Hall after walking up the hill/slope, paid in and, although I didn’t know it at the time, I experienced a musical epiphany — a dimly lit hall with chairs and tables around the dancing area and NO MIRROR BALLS!

I recall going for a lag and being amazed at all these older chaps stripping, washing and changing their tops after a spray of Brut — I wouldn’t have even been noticed by these old hands - jeez, anyone with a tache was a 'mister' at that age, but I was keenly clocking fashions etc, vests, flares, shoes, so different to what I was wearing — I can still vividly recall one lad with the legend ‘Yorkshire Born, Yorkshire Bred, Strong in the Arm and Good in Bed’ in a scroll down his upper arm — class wording I thought and made me inwardly chuckle at the time.

And so began a love affair with the venue, and the music, that still burns strong over 3 decades later (as if anyone on this forum needs that pointing out — talk about ‘preaching to the converted!’)

 

Unsullied by any musical prejudices — I knew NOTHING — I would happily try and move on the floor to anything that caught my ear — a mix as eclectic as;

Leon Bryant — Mighty Body (Hotsy Totsy)

Daybreak — I need Love

Billy Nicholls — Diamond Rings

TR5 — Cant wait much longer

Moses Dillard — Pretty as a picture

Pat Lewis — No-one to love

 

I could watch good dancers all night — kept ourselves to ourselves mostly, but one lass I do remember was  a short haired girl called Diane from Chesterfield — she had a unique dancing style that earned her the sobriquet ‘the Chesterfield Chicken’ not in a nasty way may I hasten to add, she was an attractive lass and an ‘older woman’ to us, although probably only in her early-mid 20’s at the time.

I was also introduced to gear at that age — one of the faces from Hull who attended handed me a handful of pills one night and told me to go and take them, they’d keep me ‘up’ all night — being naturally cautious I took one and pocketed the rest, although the official line was that I’d ‘done em all’ for bravado — that approach allowed me to gauge my tolerance and what level of ‘assistance’ I needed without blindly being too off my tits to appreciate the music.

We met good young lads from Sheffield & Boro at these nighters, like us they were ‘proto-casuals’ with an interest in terrace culture and we stood out with our fledgling wedge hairstyles and mode of dress.

Some of the escapades we had hitching were, looking back on them, quite harum scarum — ranging from a car load of big miner types pulling up on the M18 and shouting ‘GET IN THIS CAR NOW!’ — me and my mate thought we were being kidnapped and imagined all sorts done to us — they were good as gold and just wanted to prevent us getting nicked for thumbing it on the motorway — to the time an artic lorry driver let us in the back with his cargo — a load of massive wooden packing crates with metal corners, that weren’t secured and flew across the container toward us every time we turned a corner — was like a game of human pinball in there and 2 very relieved young lads when he let us out.

I have never collected records, couldn’t tell you the catalogue numbers of rare releases, would never be in the ‘top dancer’ category, but I still listen to a couple of hours rare soul EVERY day, and would say that my love for this music of ours is the equal of anyone — apart from my family I have never found anything that fills my life with so much happiness and fulfilment — on a dance floor, eyes closed in rhapsody and achieving something akin to ‘communion’ with the music like a Sufi mystic — I can only pay homage to the fates that led me to the altar of my youthful worship — CLIFTON HALL — are the times different? — inevitably — would I like any of my sons hitching across the North in search of youthful high-jinks — well yeah, but I’d worry sick........oh, and if I could find the couple who were heading to Batley market one Saturday morning and found two drenched and shivering urchins under a motorway bridge and decided they could just as well go to Withernsea market instead (just to give us a lift home) — I would shake your hand with gratitude undiminished by the years — what a lovely act of selflessness.

Thank you to anyone who has persevered — Clifton Hall memories may have been done to death on here before — if so apologies for my variation on a theme

Way to go matey!

 

Brilliant all niter. There are some good old threads on here about Clifton Hall - check em out.

 

 

Peter

 

Nicely put there mate , what a great description of your memories , top post !

 

 

Swifty   (who unfortunately never went to Clifton , maybe I was in my jazzfunk days ,whoops ! )

Thank you both for taking the time to read and respond - one thing i meant to include was something that has baffled me across the years - the mob who used to appear half way thru the niter - blowing whistles - were they............
 

The Preston street dancers - ie; some 'street dancers' from Preston?

OR
The Preston St dancers - some dancers from Preston St in some un-named town/city?

 

Can you believe that has from time to time occupied my mind over the last decades - i need to get out more! ;~)

I remember that tattoo vividly... On a guy at Alfreton leisure centre, waiting to be served at the bar, whilst we all waited for Gene Chandler to do his stuff on stage.

Clifton hall, i only went a handful of times, all by scooter, dads car, bus or train, but its all very vague nowadays. Thanks for the post

Thank you both for taking the time to read and respond - one thing i meant to include was something that has baffled me across the years - the mob who used to appear half way thru the niter - blowing whistles - were they............

 

The Preston street dancers - ie; some 'street dancers' from Preston?

OR

The Preston St dancers - some dancers from Preston St in some un-named town/city?

 

Can you believe that has from time to time occupied my mind over the last decades - i need to get out more! ;~)

The Preston Street Dancers!

 

Great post, who are you?

Hello mate, think 2 times football prediction league winner

I loved the Clifton hall - and the Preston street dancers too!

 

Nicely told chap!

Edited December 8, 201311 yr by Rich B

What a great post. Written with true emotion that evoked a few memories for me too.

Clifton Hall is just down the road from me now (or at least Clifton park, the hall's long gone) and every time I drive past with my kids I revisit my youth with them and listen to there yawns of boredom.

We were spoilt in South Yorks in the late 70's and early 80's for venues but Clifton Hall will be remembered by many as the venue where we heard lots of new and more contemporary sounds and not just the big floor fillers from across the country. I thinks it's fair to say Clifton carried forward the more modern vibe that still lives on strong to this day.

Think the guy with the tatoo was Hockey.

Spent many weekends with him at Mick Scotts flat after the nighter.

I know Diane, just trying to remember her surname??

Great post mate and a top venue, I went myself a few times but I think the Preston st dancers were from Sheffield area ??? Could be wrong though..

Phil

Y

 

Great post mate and a top venue, I went myself a few times but I think the Preston st dancers were from Sheffield area ??? Could be wrong though..
Phil

 

You mean they weren't from Preston?!

I know who you are now buddy, didn't realise you were on here. See you soon

Y

 

 

You mean they weren't from Preston?!

I'm pretty sure they were from Preston Richard.

Y

 

 

You mean they weren't from Preston?!

they were from preston, an old friend of mine used to go out with one , she was from the  sheffield area, my mistake..phil

I'm pretty sure they were from Preston Richard.

Wasn't there a thread a couple of months ago that detailed their names and exploits, might have been contained in another thread, might be wrong 

I'm pretty sure they were from Preston Richard.

Just searched and sorry it was the Preston Cyber Men in the thread  in may

they were good as gold and just wanted to prevent us getting nicked for thumbing it on the motorway

 

 

Me and me mate Richard (we were two of The Three Sullies ) in one of the ridiculous fits of madness you had in those days - you know, sat in front of the telly on a cold December Saturday night at about half nine, nothing planned and about a tenner each in our pockets...."f*ck it - let's go to Rotherham!"

 

It was snowing as we hopped on the 10.30 bus into Warrington, jumped on the last train to Manchester, got into Piccadilly and looked at the board - as to see how we could best get near Rotherham.

 

The snow had delayed everything and we ended up, after a cold wait, on a train to Sheffield (the carriage type with no heating) which got us into the City Of Steel for 2am.

 

You always went prepared in them days didn't you? Long leather, T shirt, white towelling socks and a pair of mangled moccassins - perfect -2 garb.

 

Anyway, after getting our bearings we set off through the night, hopefully heading somewhere in the general direction of Rotherham - had a few Hairum-Scarum moments with a few locals etc (I remember being amazed at the amount of businesses that were open in a city at that time in the morning) and eventually ended up at a stretch of Mway with the a sign pointing Rotherham out as the next junction.

 

Down the sliproad we headed, it was prob about 4.30/5am now, and onto the Mway.

 

I remember us getting a tad excited as we chatted and could see the slip road off  to Rotherham in the near distance....

 

....just as The Coppers pulled up.

 

After explaining in the car, the bastards took us back down the Mway and dropped us off where we had started at the beginning of the stretch of Mway we had just walked down.

 

Anyway, we ended up getting to The Clifton Hall - frozen - at 7.30...we still got charged £2 to get in...I remember pulling me tape out me bag and taping the last 15 minutes before we set off back into the cold to get home.

 

We attempted the 'Stranded Passenger' thing at the railway station by ringing our mate up with our last 5p and asking him to pay for us at Warrington Bank Quay.

 

He wouldn't 'as it was snowing'

 

We thumbed it - got home at about 3.30pm Sunday.

 

Mad!

Edited December 11, 201311 yr by Barry

What's scary about that tale is the fact that in 1982 you could get a bus, two trains, entrance to an all-niter, a brew at Sheffield bus station and still have 5p for a phone call left out of a tenner.

I'm pretty sure they were from Preston Richard.

 

 

they were from preston, an old friend of mine used to go out with one , she was from the  sheffield area, my mistake..phil

 

Sorry chaps, there you are being all helpful and everything - and my post was a feeble attempt at humour! Though it turned out, if I'm honest, I was thinking about the Cybermen when I typed from the hip! doh!

Good evening to all — just sat here with some soul CD on (sorry OVO folk!) and a few cans of ale, reminiscing about my youth, and thought I would share with anyone who has 5-10 mins to spare to read — apologies for the length

The time — 1981 — I had just left school in my home town of Hull and full of a yearning for freedom, adventure and new experiences — wanted to throw off the yoke of my first job (which had already bored the shite out of me) and spread my wings.

First admission — I NEVER WENT TO WIGAN CASINO......phew, that was cathartic — I know thousands did visit that magical place, but also get the feeling many who didn’t attend like to lay claim to being a regular — at the age I was when it was at its zenith, my parents wouldn’t have stood for that, although some of my school age peers used to go on the coaches that left Hull, and I am sure if you were a young un who lived closer you may have frequented the place — I know I wish I had, but I didn’t so that’s that.

I used to hear all the records the elder Hull folk brought back at house parties, and watch them dance, fascinated — a far cry from the stuff that passed for Northern at the youth club.

A mate of mine, who had been to the Casino, told me about a place in Rotherham, and did I fancy hitching it there with him — I agreed, so on that eponymous Friday night in 1981 I set off, clad in a pair of Jumbo cords, a t-shirt under a Slazenger jumper, and that most functional of dance footwear — NOT — Kios (Stan Smith copy but in Burgundy)

I remember our first lift, a boring (although we WERE grateful) old fella who regaled us with complaints about the noise levels of music nowadays — he was going as far as Thorne near Doncaster and dropped us off near a bridge over the road — before that night we didn’t know Thorne existed, but found a chippy and then a bus that went to Donny — then got a connecting one to Rotherham.

One thing that absolutely flipped us was that in S.Yorks, you could go miles on a bus for 2p (public transport must have been subsidised) — amazing but a right Brucie Bonus when you were on YOP wages (I use the term loosely) of ~£27 a week.

 

We arrived at Clifton Hall after walking up the hill/slope, paid in and, although I didn’t know it at the time, I experienced a musical epiphany — a dimly lit hall with chairs and tables around the dancing area and NO MIRROR BALLS!

I recall going for a lag and being amazed at all these older chaps stripping, washing and changing their tops after a spray of Brut — I wouldn’t have even been noticed by these old hands - jeez, anyone with a tache was a 'mister' at that age, but I was keenly clocking fashions etc, vests, flares, shoes, so different to what I was wearing — I can still vividly recall one lad with the legend ‘Yorkshire Born, Yorkshire Bred, Strong in the Arm and Good in Bed’ in a scroll down his upper arm — class wording I thought and made me inwardly chuckle at the time.

And so began a love affair with the venue, and the music, that still burns strong over 3 decades later (as if anyone on this forum needs that pointing out — talk about ‘preaching to the converted!’)

 

Unsullied by any musical prejudices — I knew NOTHING — I would happily try and move on the floor to anything that caught my ear — a mix as eclectic as;

Leon Bryant — Mighty Body (Hotsy Totsy)

Daybreak — I need Love

Billy Nicholls — Diamond Rings

TR5 — Cant wait much longer

Moses Dillard — Pretty as a picture

Pat Lewis — No-one to love

 

I could watch good dancers all night — kept ourselves to ourselves mostly, but one lass I do remember was  a short haired girl called Diane from Chesterfield — she had a unique dancing style that earned her the sobriquet ‘the Chesterfield Chicken’ not in a nasty way may I hasten to add, she was an attractive lass and an ‘older woman’ to us, although probably only in her early-mid 20’s at the time.

I was also introduced to gear at that age — one of the faces from Hull who attended handed me a handful of pills one night and told me to go and take them, they’d keep me ‘up’ all night — being naturally cautious I took one and pocketed the rest, although the official line was that I’d ‘done em all’ for bravado — that approach allowed me to gauge my tolerance and what level of ‘assistance’ I needed without blindly being too off my tits to appreciate the music.

We met good young lads from Sheffield & Boro at these nighters, like us they were ‘proto-casuals’ with an interest in terrace culture and we stood out with our fledgling wedge hairstyles and mode of dress.

Some of the escapades we had hitching were, looking back on them, quite harum scarum — ranging from a car load of big miner types pulling up on the M18 and shouting ‘GET IN THIS CAR NOW!’ — me and my mate thought we were being kidnapped and imagined all sorts done to us — they were good as gold and just wanted to prevent us getting nicked for thumbing it on the motorway — to the time an artic lorry driver let us in the back with his cargo — a load of massive wooden packing crates with metal corners, that weren’t secured and flew across the container toward us every time we turned a corner — was like a game of human pinball in there and 2 very relieved young lads when he let us out.

I have never collected records, couldn’t tell you the catalogue numbers of rare releases, would never be in the ‘top dancer’ category, but I still listen to a couple of hours rare soul EVERY day, and would say that my love for this music of ours is the equal of anyone — apart from my family I have never found anything that fills my life with so much happiness and fulfilment — on a dance floor, eyes closed in rhapsody and achieving something akin to ‘communion’ with the music like a Sufi mystic — I can only pay homage to the fates that led me to the altar of my youthful worship — CLIFTON HALL — are the times different? — inevitably — would I like any of my sons hitching across the North in search of youthful high-jinks — well yeah, but I’d worry sick........oh, and if I could find the couple who were heading to Batley market one Saturday morning and found two drenched and shivering urchins under a motorway bridge and decided they could just as well go to Withernsea market instead (just to give us a lift home) — I would shake your hand with gratitude undiminished by the years — what a lovely act of selflessness.

Thank you to anyone who has persevered — Clifton Hall memories may have been done to death on here before — if so apologies for my variation on a theme

Good evening to all — just sat here with some soul CD on (sorry OVO folk!) and a few cans of ale, reminiscing about my youth, and thought I would share with anyone who has 5-10 mins to spare to read — apologies for the length

The time — 1981 — I had just left school in my home town of Hull and full of a yearning for freedom, adventure and new experiences — wanted to throw off the yoke of my first job (which had already bored the shite out of me) and spread my wings.

First admission — I NEVER WENT TO WIGAN CASINO......phew, that was cathartic — I know thousands did visit that magical place, but also get the feeling many who didn’t attend like to lay claim to being a regular — at the age I was when it was at its zenith, my parents wouldn’t have stood for that, although some of my school age peers used to go on the coaches that left Hull, and I am sure if you were a young un who lived closer you may have frequented the place — I know I wish I had, but I didn’t so that’s that.

I used to hear all the records the elder Hull folk brought back at house parties, and watch them dance, fascinated — a far cry from the stuff that passed for Northern at the youth club.

A mate of mine, who had been to the Casino, told me about a place in Rotherham, and did I fancy hitching it there with him — I agreed, so on that eponymous Friday night in 1981 I set off, clad in a pair of Jumbo cords, a t-shirt under a Slazenger jumper, and that most functional of dance footwear — NOT — Kios (Stan Smith copy but in Burgundy)

I remember our first lift, a boring (although we WERE grateful) old fella who regaled us with complaints about the noise levels of music nowadays — he was going as far as Thorne near Doncaster and dropped us off near a bridge over the road — before that night we didn’t know Thorne existed, but found a chippy and then a bus that went to Donny — then got a connecting one to Rotherham.

One thing that absolutely flipped us was that in S.Yorks, you could go miles on a bus for 2p (public transport must have been subsidised) — amazing but a right Brucie Bonus when you were on YOP wages (I use the term loosely) of ~£27 a week.

 

We arrived at Clifton Hall after walking up the hill/slope, paid in and, although I didn’t know it at the time, I experienced a musical epiphany — a dimly lit hall with chairs and tables around the dancing area and NO MIRROR BALLS!

I recall going for a lag and being amazed at all these older chaps stripping, washing and changing their tops after a spray of Brut — I wouldn’t have even been noticed by these old hands - jeez, anyone with a tache was a 'mister' at that age, but I was keenly clocking fashions etc, vests, flares, shoes, so different to what I was wearing — I can still vividly recall one lad with the legend ‘Yorkshire Born, Yorkshire Bred, Strong in the Arm and Good in Bed’ in a scroll down his upper arm — class wording I thought and made me inwardly chuckle at the time.

And so began a love affair with the venue, and the music, that still burns strong over 3 decades later (as if anyone on this forum needs that pointing out — talk about ‘preaching to the converted!’)

 

Unsullied by any musical prejudices — I knew NOTHING — I would happily try and move on the floor to anything that caught my ear — a mix as eclectic as;

Leon Bryant — Mighty Body (Hotsy Totsy)

Daybreak — I need Love

Billy Nicholls — Diamond Rings

TR5 — Cant wait much longer

Moses Dillard — Pretty as a picture

Pat Lewis — No-one to love

 

I could watch good dancers all night — kept ourselves to ourselves mostly, but one lass I do remember was  a short haired girl called Diane from Chesterfield — she had a unique dancing style that earned her the sobriquet ‘the Chesterfield Chicken’ not in a nasty way may I hasten to add, she was an attractive lass and an ‘older woman’ to us, although probably only in her early-mid 20’s at the time.

I was also introduced to gear at that age — one of the faces from Hull who attended handed me a handful of pills one night and told me to go and take them, they’d keep me ‘up’ all night — being naturally cautious I took one and pocketed the rest, although the official line was that I’d ‘done em all’ for bravado — that approach allowed me to gauge my tolerance and what level of ‘assistance’ I needed without blindly being too off my tits to appreciate the music.

We met good young lads from Sheffield & Boro at these nighters, like us they were ‘proto-casuals’ with an interest in terrace culture and we stood out with our fledgling wedge hairstyles and mode of dress.

Some of the escapades we had hitching were, looking back on them, quite harum scarum — ranging from a car load of big miner types pulling up on the M18 and shouting ‘GET IN THIS CAR NOW!’ — me and my mate thought we were being kidnapped and imagined all sorts done to us — they were good as gold and just wanted to prevent us getting nicked for thumbing it on the motorway — to the time an artic lorry driver let us in the back with his cargo — a load of massive wooden packing crates with metal corners, that weren’t secured and flew across the container toward us every time we turned a corner — was like a game of human pinball in there and 2 very relieved young lads when he let us out.

I have never collected records, couldn’t tell you the catalogue numbers of rare releases, would never be in the ‘top dancer’ category, but I still listen to a couple of hours rare soul EVERY day, and would say that my love for this music of ours is the equal of anyone — apart from my family I have never found anything that fills my life with so much happiness and fulfilment — on a dance floor, eyes closed in rhapsody and achieving something akin to ‘communion’ with the music like a Sufi mystic — I can only pay homage to the fates that led me to the altar of my youthful worship — CLIFTON HALL — are the times different? — inevitably — would I like any of my sons hitching across the North in search of youthful high-jinks — well yeah, but I’d worry sick........oh, and if I could find the couple who were heading to Batley market one Saturday morning and found two drenched and shivering urchins under a motorway bridge and decided they could just as well go to Withernsea market instead (just to give us a lift home) — I would shake your hand with gratitude undiminished by the years — what a lovely act of selflessness.

Thank you to anyone who has persevered — Clifton Hall memories may have been done to death on here before — if so apologies for my variation on a theme

The girl was Diane Reynolds. She still attends local soul nites and still lives in Chesterfield. You mentioned Sheffield and Boro, my best mate at that time was Andy Galloway from Sheffield. Also close mates from Boro were Bozy and Clarky. From Hull we had a mate called Mike, a small black lad. He introduced us to Paz, Phil Hassan and Dave Hulley, 3 wizz dealers from Hull and to this day, its the best we have ever had.My name is Knocker from Chesterfield so I bet we knew each other back then

I know Diane, just trying to remember her surname??

Diane Reynolds

Three memories for me:
Preston Street Dancers (from Preston)

Neil Page's flashing lights on his record box

Randy nearly getting us in a fight with a bunch of Rotherham locals in a pub....

 

Happy days,.

Three memories for me:

Preston Street Dancers (from Preston)

Neil Page's flashing lights on his record box

Randy nearly getting us in a fight with a bunch of Rotherham locals in a pub....

 

Happy days,.

Probably in the Charters Arms Steve

 

Neil Pages flashing record box used to make me extremely paranoid!

 

As did most thinmgs back then!

 

P

Diane Reynolds

Thats her Knocker, cheers. See you at the winding wheel over Christmas if you are going.

The girl was Diane Reynolds. She still attends local soul nites and still lives in Chesterfield. You mentioned Sheffield and Boro, my best mate at that time was Andy Galloway from Sheffield. Also close mates from Boro were Bozy and Clarky. From Hull we had a mate called Mike, a small black lad. He introduced us to Paz, Phil Hassan and Dave Hulley, 3 wizz dealers from Hull and to this day, its the best we have ever had.My name is Knocker from Chesterfield so I bet we knew each other back then

Knew Boasey & Clarky well mate, Boasey passed away sadly about 18mth-2 yr back - know who you'll mean by Mike (the black chap) - also know 2 of the 3 gents you mentioned - still see Paz - although i couldn't comment on their propensity for....ahem..transgressing any laws

Remember Andy Galloway too, tall brown haired lad with a tache (probably described half of S.Yorks at the time ;~)  )

Andy G was 'seeing' a lass called Diane Gallagher from Hull, came thru with a couple of Sheff mates to a house party in Hessle - as per in those days, alcohol & testosterone mixed badly and made the accent you spoke with and your postcode a far bigger deal than it should EVER be, all went a bit 'Bertie' and ended in tears.............

Shame, as i got on with all of em - and yes, you may well have been in company back in the day mate - cheers for the post

Edited December 17, 201311 yr by hullsoulie