Written by Jane Buck (Ames)

 

The twelve Streets in Splott

Brought tears for many, when they

Bulldozed the lot,

Where people knew and helped each other

Make believe games for children to discover

 

Menelaus Street was the first to go

With people pleading and shouting no!

It was such a crying shame

When the first bulldozer came.

 

Layard Street was next on the list

All those people would be sadly missed

Enid Street on a rainy day

Again knocked down to make way

Robinson Square and Elaine Street

Where courting couples used to meet

People running to and fro

Not believing they were ordered to go

 

The Dowlais cottages were in between

With the dust and smoke they were hard to keep clean

Bridgend gone, such a tragedy too

Those little terraced houses, were once new

 

Caerphilly Street I will always remember

Chalking on pavements in a sunny September

Corner shops with goods on tick

They were pulled down, brick by brick

Llanelli Street holds fond memories too

Where people stopped and chatted to you

 

Pontypridd Street also came down

People cried, no more smiles around

Wimbourne Street had a few tales to tell

The pub on the corner with a big wooden bell

 

I wish I could go back to those days

Where, smoke poured out and the heavy haze

Tenby Street went, another street gone

What did those people do that was so wrong

 

No more exploring on derelict land

No more steelworks, that used to be manned

Milford Street was the last to go

Peoples pain beginning to show

Portmanmor Rd and Swansea Street too

Was a whole community we all once knew

Gone away are the houses of Splott

The bulldozers came and took the lot

If they could have only known

That Splott to me, will always be home. 

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Written by Jane Buck (Ames)

Empty pop bottles to make us rich

Carbolic soap, that made us itch

Monster bags for a penny, and black jacks too

Sherbet dips, hazelnut whips to name but a few

 Fruit salads and spangles all stored in Manley’s shop

All for a sixpence to buy the lot

 

Men with black faces coming home from work

A dip in the tin, brown ale to make them sing

Best suits on Sundays, leftovers on Mondays

Pawn shops on Tuesdays, Stew on Wednesdays

Spam on Thursday, pay day on Fridays

Down the Bomb and Dagger drinking on Saturdays

 

John Blands Woodmills was a magic kingdom

To a child of six playing in the sticks

Making castles of wood, dens and pirate ships too,

Never thinking of the dangers of falling wood on you. 

 

I will always love those days,

the Splott people and their loving ways.

Sticking together and making end meet

A more happy community you will never beat

It is easy to write about my childhood in Splott

So many memories that will never be forgot. 

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Written by Jane Buck (Ames)

 

I wish I could turn back the clock

Just for one more day over the docks

Where coal tips beckoned me to play

I’d like to have been allowed to stay

 

With dirty hands and muddy feet

Leaving my footprints all down the street

Everyone knew just who to blame

When they followed the foot prints from where they came

Mam would be waiting with a hot bath

But I always had the last laugh,

because, back I would go over the dock

nothing could stop me, not even a lock

 

I don’t think I was ever clean

But a happier face was rarely seen

The woodpiles were amazing too

They just kept on calling you

Climb up to the top and make a den

We would play hide and seek and shout at the men.

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Written by Jane Buck (Ames)

 

No microwaves, fridges or cars

But we did have our tin baths

Sometimes to Splott baths we went

With a costume that had been lent

To swim on a sunny day

Let your cares and worries float away

A children’s pool and adults too

To wash away the Dowlais works dirt, Its true

Then over to Splott playing ground we’d go

Causing havoc on Jessie, till the Parky’s whistle blew

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Written by Jane Buck (Ames)

 

Splott Library which still stands today,

A place to go where you didn’t have to pay,

Chairs and tables and a reading room too,

On a rainy day there was do much to do. 

A children’s room as clean as a new pin

With big wooden doors that would shut with a din

Polished floors that shone like a mirror

The endless fun went on forever

Games we played like skating on the floors

Caught by the librarian and shown the door

What a lovely time we could have there

With a handful of sweets, not giving a care. 

 

Next door was the little park

Where children played until dark

Those days were full of fun

We went home cold and numb

But we didn’t worry about that

because tomorrow we would be back

 

Moorland Road School help my first memories

On a chair by the window, watching the trees

Mrs Price my first teacher, with a smile on her face

So smartly dressed with a collar made of lace,

She would sit at her desk and tell us a story

But nothing harsh or even gory.

 

Moorland Road School was a great place to be

The scruffy girl of five, it had to be me.

Days in the classroom I will never forget

I definitely wasn’t the teachers pet.

 

Long sunny days in Miss Prices’ class

Those numbers in books which they call math

Coloured chalks, books galore, but all I wanted

Was to finish my lesson and go through the door.

 

We played in the playground with hoops and balls,

Until the school bell rang and we would be called.

Standing in line and waiting to go

The noise from the kids making such a din.

The day came, but alas,  when

I was moved to another class. 

 

My new teacher’s name was Mrs Webber

But I’d had enough altogether

That little girl sat alone in a chair

With big brown eyes and a ribbon in her hair

Would sit all day and just stare

she didn’t like her new class, it wasn’t fair

That was me I’m afraid – but that wasn’t it

I found it hard in school not having the gift. 

 

The teachers tried every day in vain

To teach me to try and print my name,

Day after day, I fought a battle

Go and stand in the corner! They would rattle

A if for apple, B is for bat, please tell me again,

I don’t understand that.

Now I look back to those wonderful days,

What I really wanted was some kind of praise. 

 

Happier days would lay ahead,

I wold play on the coal tip instead.

Back to the days that I know best,

My memories go on without a rest.

 

I was always in trouble in Moorland Rd School

But now I look back I was really a fool

Those childhood memories, will not be forgotten

In that wonderful school, in Millman St Splott.

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Written by Jane Buck (Ames)

 

Swansea St Mission was the place to be

A warm place to sit with a cup of tea.

For many it was a little more than that

Someone to talk with and a friendly chat.

 

Elderly people would go there for lunch

We kids would wait at the door for some munch

If you were lucky you could get something there

To leave empty handed, we didn’t think fair

 

Back to school we would be sent

But no real harm was ever meant

The mission was a happy place to be

Even if it was just for a cup of tea.

 

St Francis Church was wonderful too

With its shiny wooden floors and neat little pews

Its organ bellowed with the many sounds

And the beautiful singing from the crowds

 

Their Witsun treat outings were hard to beat

Sat in a lorry with muddy feet

Tears of joy and squeals of laughter

Filled the air for days long after

 

Collection boxes were passed around

To buy treats and books for under a pound

Mrs John the Sunday School Teacher

Kind and sweet, as well as a preacher

 

They didn’t mind if you had no shoes

As long as you came and sat in the pews!

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Written by Jane Buck (Ames)

 

Steelworks bellowing smoke

Enough to make you choke

Playing on coal tips

Jumping on wood

Only us kids, really understood

 

The hooters would sound for the men to start work

For miles around they could be heard

Come rain or shine the children would play

With anything they could borrow or steal that day.

 

Mondays were wash days, which was just as well

with the dust from the steelworks, our clothes would smell

The coalman would call and the manhole was lifted

Down poured the coal, us kids we felt gifted

A warm fire to sit by and a family so swell

Till out came the tin bath, carbolic soap as well.

 

If there was any trouble, the kids would shout

It’s that Jane Ames again clowning about

I would like to say that I was led astray

With the many activities, all in a day.

 

The days that I remember best, was,

My dad in the cellar in an old string vest,

Me in the garden making a mess

Mam in the kitchen cooking cabbage, ah bless

I think we were a privileged lot

To be part of the community…in Splott.

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Written by Jane Buck (Ames)

 

I remember my first day at Willows High

In my new uniform, with a stripy tie

In the hall we met the new headmaster,

From that moment it became a disaster,

My friends were split into two classes

Both teachers were men, tall with moustaches,

The work was hard, that didn’t matter,

Making new friends to laugh and chatter. 

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Written by Jane Buck (Ames)

Thanks for allowing me to share them.