I lived the first eighteen years of my life in a three up two down terraced house in Constable Street off the Hessle Road. We had a back yard that was useless to play in. Once you had put in the copper, for washing, and a galvanised tub with a copper domed posher; not to mention Dad's bike and his window box; there wasn't room to swing a cat. Not that we'd have done such a thing to Queenie.
Nevertheless, we kids, my sisters and I, were better off than some of the/other kids because we had the Big Yard. The Big Yard could be entered by great wooden gates large enough to allow a small lorry in. I don't know why the Big Yard was there. It might have been for stabling or small workshops but for us it was a place to play and for Dad to grow hollyhocks and African marigolds. We spent hot summers playing there even after I, as a toddler, cut my nose on the edge of a roof slate, that was being used as a garden border, and had to have stitches.
If we wanted to play with our friends, we played in the street. We could play for hours in the street and not be interrupted by a single car, nor were there many parked there to get in the way. Some games were, of course, seasonal and we roamed far and wide in the autumn in search of conkers. The Boulevard was lined with trees but none of them were chestnuts, so we had to go as far as West Park looking for conkers; we always seemed to find some.
We often played hopscotch. Marking out the game grid was simple on the paving stones; we merely drew around the pavers. We used chalks or if they could not be found we could always borrow Mam's step stone. There were plenty of bits of stone for the game marker. Pieces of roof slate were preferred as they didn't roll far when we'd thrown them.
Our window ledge was often used for Block and we spent many hours with our noses pressed to the sandstone while counting to one hundred before shouting ‘Coming, ready or not’. Every house in the street had a door with a step a little set back from the front wall so there were many places to hide. We lived near the crossroads with Boynton Street so we could run around the corner as well. Some of our players were more adventurous than others and would stray from the block in search of those hiding and there were often very close races to be first to reach the Block to be caught by ‘it’ or to touch first and avoid being ‘it’ next.
Mr Wolf would stand on one kerb edge facing the wall while all the other players stood at the opposite wall and chanted, ‘What time is it Mr Wolf?’ Mr Wolf would announce an hour of the clock and the players would take that many steps across the road towards him. The timid took fairy steps and the bold, long strides. The game, as we played it seemed to have two possible conclusions. When Mr Wolf decided it was ‘dinner time’ he would chase the players back across the road trying to catch one. The alternative was that one of the boldest players would manage to creep across the road in large enough strides to touch Mr Wolf before he could announce dinner time. There was another game of a similar type where the person who was ‘it’ stood with their back to the other players who would try to creep up 'on them very quietly. It would turn every so often in an attempt to catch anyone moving. If you were spotted you had to start again. The winner and next ‘it’ was the first to touch ‘it’ on the back, usually quite hard.
There were a number of games played with balls. We boys did not get involved with two ball? probably because we hadn't the skill. We just saw it as a ‘girl’ thing. I remember, if I rack my brains enough, a game we called Eggitybudge. We played it using a tennis ball. ‘It’ would wait with the ball while the rest of the players went and chose names. The idea was to choose a number of names, one each, that could be announced to ‘it’ so that they could choose without knowing who they were choosing. Bevin's shop was on the corner and the window on Constable Street always had a large display of cigarettes and tobaccos. We would stand by the window and choose ourselves a cigarette name: Senior Service, Capstan Full Strength or Woodbines. We might go around into Boynton Street where the sweets were on display and choose Rainbow Drops, Fruit Salads or Black Jacks. We might choose a girl's name or boy’s name, not our own of course, or comics. Armed with our list we would go back and one of us would reel them off to ‘it’. ‘It’ would then throw the ball up at the wall in the space between bedroom windows and shout one of the chosen names. That person had to get the ball as quickly as they could while the rest of us scattered. When they had the ball they could shout ‘Eggitybudge' and we all had to stand still. The person with the ball then tried to hit someone with it without leaving the spot. We did allow for the one with the ball to spit as far as they could then stand where they had spat to try to hit us. If you were hit you became ‘it’. If your chosen name was called and you managed to catch the ball before it hit the ground you threw it up at the wall and shouted, ‘Fry your own bacon’ then ran away to leave that first person to retrieve the ball.
Ball block was a variation of the hide and seek game but played using a ball of any size. The ball was placed on the sink in the middle of the road so it didn't roll away. We would use the same process as for Eggitybudge to choose names and then someone would kick the ball down the street as hard as possible, shouting a name while we all ran off to hide. ‘It’ retrieved the ball and placed it on the sink before trying to find us. If they spotted someone then they put their foot on the ball and shouted their name. They were out. The last person out was ‘it’ but if you were cunning you could creep out of hiding without ‘it’ seeing and kick the ball away so that ‘it’ had to start over again. The one thing that I do remember about playing in the street was that we were without adult supervision but without fear. We would stay out for hours amusing ourselves and seldom falling out with each other. We were free to wander around the streets and get dirty and scratched and bruised and battered without much telling off. We knew what was right and what was wrong and we tried not to do wrong, or at least not get caught. Occasionally, we'd get told off by an adult but we didn't say anything when we got home or we'd be in trouble again. Our childhoods were, for the most part, happy and carefree; would that we could leave our grandchildren that same freedom.
