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A History of Wolverhampton
The author traces the history of the town from the first grant of land by Wulfruna to the re-development of the 1990s; the first comprehensive account of this ancient town.
192 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1999
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May 6, 2024
This was one of my father's books. It's quite an interesting book to read, even more interesting when I read the blurb on the author as his name seemed familiar, he went to the boys grammar and I went to the only mixed grammar. Here endeth our connection I think!
It was an interesting trip down memory lane as my grandparents and their parents and their parents lived near Wednesfield's railway station, well I think it was nearer Heath Town really and my grandfathers on that side of the family were all railway men, of one sort or another, for generations and generations... My grandad was a signalman at New Street Station in Birmingham, the busiest station in that neck of the woods where the trains from all parts of the country meet and some even travel as far down as Euston!! Why would people want to live in London, said grandad, when they could live in the industrial heartland of this country, plus we even have farms and sheep. And dog and pigeon racing. Separately. (I had a grandad who raced pigeons and an uncle who raced dogs. But not together).
Being a Wulfrunian and being a Wolves fan, my school overlooked west park and was just a short way down the road from Molyneux (when did it drop the "y" and swop for "i"? just wondering) where for those of you who don't know Wolverhampton is the home of Wolves football club, and sometimes when they had midweek matches we could hear the huge loud roars coming from the stadium when they had scored a goal. The teachers would wrap our knuckles if they saw anyone had been making a tally of the goals in their exercise books, or even worse on the desk. On Saturdays when dad was gardening (or for that matter if we were in the house and if raining dad would have the trap window open), we would be listening to the roars of the crowd and counting the goals, or even listening to it on the wireless, dad did the weekly pools and was ever hopeful Wolves wouldn't let him down on the number of goals scored. He was a Manchester United fan which was sacrilegious if you lived in Wolverhampton. I was taken to my first match with my dad and grandad when I was 3, there is a picture of a bewildered and tired me sitting on the shoulders of my grandad, I think they won by the look on their faces. I have no recollection.
It has an amazing history, it was an anglo-saxon settlement surviving on the woolly sheep and later metal and tyres and anything thereto related. Up to a few decades ago it was a really thriving town but sadly not so much today. All the main industries seem to have gone and like a lot of towns not a new lot of jobs took their place. However it does have a rich back history and this book brings it to light beautifully. I loved the little black and white pictures and one pulled me up as it was a photo of North Street in the town centre taken in the late 1890s which showed the level of poverty in that area but was not deemed sufficient to call it a slum, perhaps they visited a different street. I have been tracing my family tree for more years than I care to remember now but North Street was where some of my great many times grandparents were living and my grannie told me that most of their windows were missing, that they slept huddled altogether on whatever they could find to sleep as most of the furniture went on keeping the fire going as they also needed to eat. Something which was repeated on the other side of my family when the inquest on my great many times grandmother says she died of starvation and had been found in a house with no food, no windows (they had rags stuffed in them), no furniture it had gone on the fire and she was in rags sleeping on the floor with a bit of old material over her for a blanket. This was in winter and she lived in a street full of terraced houses and nobody noticed her plight or even her death. On a lighter note I did know Wightwick Manor as another gran worked there and sometimes she took me to work and I had to play very quietly in the garden or shed if it was raining and had to wear the huge apron she made me but had to take it off when I came back to the kitchen door and hopefully looking clean.
So many memories maybe I should write them down for my children to read, but I'm not that good enough with words!! So thank you Chris for taking me down memory lane and a lot of history of the town of my birth and youth. I shall re-read this. And thank you dad wherever you are for keeping this.
It was an interesting trip down memory lane as my grandparents and their parents and their parents lived near Wednesfield's railway station, well I think it was nearer Heath Town really and my grandfathers on that side of the family were all railway men, of one sort or another, for generations and generations... My grandad was a signalman at New Street Station in Birmingham, the busiest station in that neck of the woods where the trains from all parts of the country meet and some even travel as far down as Euston!! Why would people want to live in London, said grandad, when they could live in the industrial heartland of this country, plus we even have farms and sheep. And dog and pigeon racing. Separately. (I had a grandad who raced pigeons and an uncle who raced dogs. But not together).
Being a Wulfrunian and being a Wolves fan, my school overlooked west park and was just a short way down the road from Molyneux (when did it drop the "y" and swop for "i"? just wondering) where for those of you who don't know Wolverhampton is the home of Wolves football club, and sometimes when they had midweek matches we could hear the huge loud roars coming from the stadium when they had scored a goal. The teachers would wrap our knuckles if they saw anyone had been making a tally of the goals in their exercise books, or even worse on the desk. On Saturdays when dad was gardening (or for that matter if we were in the house and if raining dad would have the trap window open), we would be listening to the roars of the crowd and counting the goals, or even listening to it on the wireless, dad did the weekly pools and was ever hopeful Wolves wouldn't let him down on the number of goals scored. He was a Manchester United fan which was sacrilegious if you lived in Wolverhampton. I was taken to my first match with my dad and grandad when I was 3, there is a picture of a bewildered and tired me sitting on the shoulders of my grandad, I think they won by the look on their faces. I have no recollection.
It has an amazing history, it was an anglo-saxon settlement surviving on the woolly sheep and later metal and tyres and anything thereto related. Up to a few decades ago it was a really thriving town but sadly not so much today. All the main industries seem to have gone and like a lot of towns not a new lot of jobs took their place. However it does have a rich back history and this book brings it to light beautifully. I loved the little black and white pictures and one pulled me up as it was a photo of North Street in the town centre taken in the late 1890s which showed the level of poverty in that area but was not deemed sufficient to call it a slum, perhaps they visited a different street. I have been tracing my family tree for more years than I care to remember now but North Street was where some of my great many times grandparents were living and my grannie told me that most of their windows were missing, that they slept huddled altogether on whatever they could find to sleep as most of the furniture went on keeping the fire going as they also needed to eat. Something which was repeated on the other side of my family when the inquest on my great many times grandmother says she died of starvation and had been found in a house with no food, no windows (they had rags stuffed in them), no furniture it had gone on the fire and she was in rags sleeping on the floor with a bit of old material over her for a blanket. This was in winter and she lived in a street full of terraced houses and nobody noticed her plight or even her death. On a lighter note I did know Wightwick Manor as another gran worked there and sometimes she took me to work and I had to play very quietly in the garden or shed if it was raining and had to wear the huge apron she made me but had to take it off when I came back to the kitchen door and hopefully looking clean.
So many memories maybe I should write them down for my children to read, but I'm not that good enough with words!! So thank you Chris for taking me down memory lane and a lot of history of the town of my birth and youth. I shall re-read this. And thank you dad wherever you are for keeping this.
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