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- Dec 2, 2005
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Nigh on thirty years ago, in Sheffield, I briefly knew an inveterate scallywag named Raymond. Raymond was originally from Dublin, a short, stumpy Irishman, thinning on top by the time I encountered him in his late thirties. He always had an air of mischief about him, and would cackle cadaverously, often and sometimes seemingly without pretext. Raymond was a genuine thespian, who apparently in his youth, ‘trod the boards’ with Albert Finney, but his early promise was blighted by drinking so hard that his fellow hard drinkers were scandalised. How Raymond washed up in Sheffield I don’t know, but he did some self-scripted radio work as a Marlowesque detective ‘Jack Pie, The Private Eye’, and his monologues, performed in pubs and at parties, were among the funniest I’ve ever heard. Despite his gregariousness and wit, he was also an absolute rascal.
Raymond was accompanied almost everywhere by a huge, shaggy German shepherd by the name of Flint. Flint was a friendly dog (not a shepherd of course), but looked to all the world, like a great drooling wolf from a Hammer horror film, (possibly they had once acted together). One of Raymond’s regular scams was to go into a Sheffield pub, leaving the door ajar just long enough for Flint to enter behind him. Raymond would go to the bar, while Flint loped in, drooling, and sniffing at the customers. The landlord would invariably tell Raymond that dogs were not allowed in the pub, to which Raymond would reply that the dog wasn’t his, it must have just followed him in. He would then offer to get rid of the beast if the landlord would stand him a pint. He’d down his pint and walk back out, with Flint following at his heels - all the way to the next pub.
Raymond attended a local history talk I gave, and afterwards we got chatting. It was a Sunday afternoon, and a few of us went for a drink afterwards, with Raymond tagging along (on this occasion, he was unaccompanied by Flint). Most of the company only stayed for a pint, and when it was down to just me and Raymond, he suggested moving on to another pub close by, saying he was due to meet his mate Jim, another local historian, who I would get on with. I was single at the time, and had nothing to get home for, so I agreed. The other pub was just a five minute walk away, and when we arrived I was introduced to Jim, a large jolly chap in his sixties, and to two other gentlemen, who were all very pleased to see us. It was only as the conversation progressed that I realised that I had actually been duped into joining Raymond’s team for the pub quiz which was about to start, as he was hoping to win some cash and a gallon of beer!
We won the second prize, which I think was a pint each, and afterwards, I left with Raymond and Jim. I had got to talking to Jim about local history, and he said that he wanted to show me something that I wouldn’t have seen before. We walked to a small old industrial enclave, surrounded by busy roads and high-rise tower blocks. Here on Milton Street stood Taylor’s Eye Witness Works, which was then very much a working factory, but on this Sunday evening, the area was peaceful and deserted. I had passed the factory numerous times, having lived very close to it as a teenager. My mother grew up within a stone’s throw of the building, and both my parents and maternal grandparents were married just a few hundred yards away. However, Jim was about to show me something that none of us had ever noticed, nor had I ever heard anyone speak about. On one of the cornerstones of this then impressive building, is carved a poem – which rather than Flint (or even Raymond) is the point of this shaggy dog tale. The poem reads as follows:
MY GOD MY FATHER WHY LET ME STRAY
FAR FROM MY HOME ON LIFE ROUGH WAY
OH TEACH ME ME FROM MY HEART TO SAY
THY WILL BE DONE THY WILL BE DONE
IF THOU SHOULDST CALL ME TO RESIGN
WHAT MOST I PRIZE NE’ER WAS MINE
TO ONLY YIELD THEE WHAT IS THINE
THY WILL BE DONE
H.R. RAMER FEBY [FEBRUARY] 3RD 1767
I was fascinated by the fact that I, and so many others, must have walked past this poem so many times without even noticing it. Jim pointed out that the date given for the poem actually pre-dates the building of the Taylor’s factory itself (which in any case had several phases of construction). He had researched the matter and discovered that when the factory was built, some of the stone used had been reclaimed from a site just a few yards away, where the then derelict, old Sheffield Debtor’s Prison stood. Presumably H.R.Ramer was one of the poor desperate souls interned there.
Over the years, I’ve shown the poem to a few people, who have been equally fascinated by it, but knowing how quickly Sheffield’s history is being obliterated, I have been anxious for a while to return and photograph it. This is a town after all, where some years ago, the City Council allowed a pub chain to partly demolish Sheffield’s oldest pub, a genuine Tudor building where meals were prepared for Mary Queen of Scots when she was imprisoned in Sheffield Castle by her sister Queen Elizabeth 1, so as to build an extension, and while at the same time insisting on the preservation of the monstrous high-rise flats that dominate the skyline above Sheffield railway station as an example of ‘brutalist’ 1960’s architecture.
The Old Queen's Head, which some years ago had most of the interior walls and at least two of the external walls demolished to accomodate a modern extension. On the hill are the preserved Park Hill Flats.
The mercury was below zero and there was snow on the ground and continuing to fall as I left Leeds for Sheffield yesterday. The main purpose of my visit was to see my granddaughter and her parents, but before I went for lunch with them, I managed a quick visit to the ‘Sheffield Scene’ shop, where I purchased a few items, and where the Bladeforums 2011 knife and Kabar Peanut I was carrying were greatly admired. I posted some pictures of postcards showing some of the old Sheffield cutlery firms in this thread - http://www.bladeforums.com/forums/s...ffield-s-Millenium-Galleries-(bad-pic-heavy)- a while ago, and I managed to find another, which I will post here.
The shop was also selling, on behalf of the Firefighter’s charity, some old fireman’s buttons, so I bought a few of these, the older ones with the Sheffield coat-of-arms and the slightly more recent ones with the white rose of Yorkshire. I deliberately bought a couple that had been scraped or flattened by the action of their original owner sliding down his fireman’s pole at the old Sheffield fire station I remember very well.
After a lovely time with my daughter and her family, I set off in the lightly falling snow, and with very little time to spare, to try and capture a few photos before I caught the coach back to Leeds. Getting to the Eye Witness Works meant quite a detour, and the light was already failing, but I wanted to try and get some photographs, if indeed the stone was still there.
There is little left of the neglected part of Sheffield’s inner city where the Taylor’s works still stands, and I got a shock when I saw it, after not being here for around five years. If it had not been for the presence of a few dimly-lit windows within the vast building, I would have taken it for derelict, as indeed much of it really is. Readers may find it hard to believe that this is all that remains of the once grand premises of one of Sheffield’s few remaining and most prestigious cutlery firms.
The snow was beginning to settle and the wind was icy as I approached the cornerstone where the ancient poem was carved, and again I was shocked to see how much it had deteriorated in the time since my last visit. I quickly got out my camera and began to take some pictures, knowing that they wouldn’t be good. As I was snapping away on the otherwise deserted street a gentleman passed by, hurrying for his car or bus. He made a remark about the stone being an old fake, and when I asked why he said that, he pointed to the date. The gentleman turned out to be one of Taylor’s directors, but unlike some of his predecessors, and along with many others, he was unaware of the source of the stone. I explained, and said I was taking some pictures while the stone was still there. As he hurried away, the man told me, “It won’t be here much longer if the Council get their way.” I didn’t want to detain him further, but the remark greatly concerned me.
Back in Leeds, I began to try and find out a bit more about what the future may hold for the famous Eye Witness Works, and several things are clear, that Taylor’s no longer have a use for a factory of anything like that size (or even perhaps a factory at all) and are unable to maintain it, that there are attempts to undermine the building’s Grade 2 Listed status in order to facilitate a partial demolition and re-building, and that if any of the current structure is maintained at all, the interior will be lost, and the premises developed as flats for yuppies.
From what I can find, prior to this post, not one single picture exists on the internet of the stone carved by a Yorkshire bloke, down on his luck, 250 years ago. In fact almost nothing is written about the stone at all, and of course there are now vested interests for burying it, perhaps literally. I found one post on a British knife forum in which the poster related that their aunt had lived in the area and that there was a legend that a man had carved the poem before hanging himself from a nearby lamppost. However, if the date on the stone is accurate, the stone was not in its current position when it was carved, which I imagine took longer than a few minutes, and I doubt that there were too many lampposts around in those days.
The fate of the poet is of course a mystery, the fate of his poem, sadly, is probably more predictable. For the moment at least though, the historic factory and the carved stone that sits at its corner can still be seen, but like much of Sheffield’s history, it stands neglected, largely unloved and uncared for, decomposing before our eyes, and inevitably soon to disappear.
My Bladeforums knife in Sheffield yesterday
Raymond was accompanied almost everywhere by a huge, shaggy German shepherd by the name of Flint. Flint was a friendly dog (not a shepherd of course), but looked to all the world, like a great drooling wolf from a Hammer horror film, (possibly they had once acted together). One of Raymond’s regular scams was to go into a Sheffield pub, leaving the door ajar just long enough for Flint to enter behind him. Raymond would go to the bar, while Flint loped in, drooling, and sniffing at the customers. The landlord would invariably tell Raymond that dogs were not allowed in the pub, to which Raymond would reply that the dog wasn’t his, it must have just followed him in. He would then offer to get rid of the beast if the landlord would stand him a pint. He’d down his pint and walk back out, with Flint following at his heels - all the way to the next pub.
Raymond attended a local history talk I gave, and afterwards we got chatting. It was a Sunday afternoon, and a few of us went for a drink afterwards, with Raymond tagging along (on this occasion, he was unaccompanied by Flint). Most of the company only stayed for a pint, and when it was down to just me and Raymond, he suggested moving on to another pub close by, saying he was due to meet his mate Jim, another local historian, who I would get on with. I was single at the time, and had nothing to get home for, so I agreed. The other pub was just a five minute walk away, and when we arrived I was introduced to Jim, a large jolly chap in his sixties, and to two other gentlemen, who were all very pleased to see us. It was only as the conversation progressed that I realised that I had actually been duped into joining Raymond’s team for the pub quiz which was about to start, as he was hoping to win some cash and a gallon of beer!
We won the second prize, which I think was a pint each, and afterwards, I left with Raymond and Jim. I had got to talking to Jim about local history, and he said that he wanted to show me something that I wouldn’t have seen before. We walked to a small old industrial enclave, surrounded by busy roads and high-rise tower blocks. Here on Milton Street stood Taylor’s Eye Witness Works, which was then very much a working factory, but on this Sunday evening, the area was peaceful and deserted. I had passed the factory numerous times, having lived very close to it as a teenager. My mother grew up within a stone’s throw of the building, and both my parents and maternal grandparents were married just a few hundred yards away. However, Jim was about to show me something that none of us had ever noticed, nor had I ever heard anyone speak about. On one of the cornerstones of this then impressive building, is carved a poem – which rather than Flint (or even Raymond) is the point of this shaggy dog tale. The poem reads as follows:
MY GOD MY FATHER WHY LET ME STRAY
FAR FROM MY HOME ON LIFE ROUGH WAY
OH TEACH ME ME FROM MY HEART TO SAY
THY WILL BE DONE THY WILL BE DONE
IF THOU SHOULDST CALL ME TO RESIGN
WHAT MOST I PRIZE NE’ER WAS MINE
TO ONLY YIELD THEE WHAT IS THINE
THY WILL BE DONE
H.R. RAMER FEBY [FEBRUARY] 3RD 1767
I was fascinated by the fact that I, and so many others, must have walked past this poem so many times without even noticing it. Jim pointed out that the date given for the poem actually pre-dates the building of the Taylor’s factory itself (which in any case had several phases of construction). He had researched the matter and discovered that when the factory was built, some of the stone used had been reclaimed from a site just a few yards away, where the then derelict, old Sheffield Debtor’s Prison stood. Presumably H.R.Ramer was one of the poor desperate souls interned there.
Over the years, I’ve shown the poem to a few people, who have been equally fascinated by it, but knowing how quickly Sheffield’s history is being obliterated, I have been anxious for a while to return and photograph it. This is a town after all, where some years ago, the City Council allowed a pub chain to partly demolish Sheffield’s oldest pub, a genuine Tudor building where meals were prepared for Mary Queen of Scots when she was imprisoned in Sheffield Castle by her sister Queen Elizabeth 1, so as to build an extension, and while at the same time insisting on the preservation of the monstrous high-rise flats that dominate the skyline above Sheffield railway station as an example of ‘brutalist’ 1960’s architecture.
The Old Queen's Head, which some years ago had most of the interior walls and at least two of the external walls demolished to accomodate a modern extension. On the hill are the preserved Park Hill Flats.
The mercury was below zero and there was snow on the ground and continuing to fall as I left Leeds for Sheffield yesterday. The main purpose of my visit was to see my granddaughter and her parents, but before I went for lunch with them, I managed a quick visit to the ‘Sheffield Scene’ shop, where I purchased a few items, and where the Bladeforums 2011 knife and Kabar Peanut I was carrying were greatly admired. I posted some pictures of postcards showing some of the old Sheffield cutlery firms in this thread - http://www.bladeforums.com/forums/s...ffield-s-Millenium-Galleries-(bad-pic-heavy)- a while ago, and I managed to find another, which I will post here.
The shop was also selling, on behalf of the Firefighter’s charity, some old fireman’s buttons, so I bought a few of these, the older ones with the Sheffield coat-of-arms and the slightly more recent ones with the white rose of Yorkshire. I deliberately bought a couple that had been scraped or flattened by the action of their original owner sliding down his fireman’s pole at the old Sheffield fire station I remember very well.
After a lovely time with my daughter and her family, I set off in the lightly falling snow, and with very little time to spare, to try and capture a few photos before I caught the coach back to Leeds. Getting to the Eye Witness Works meant quite a detour, and the light was already failing, but I wanted to try and get some photographs, if indeed the stone was still there.
There is little left of the neglected part of Sheffield’s inner city where the Taylor’s works still stands, and I got a shock when I saw it, after not being here for around five years. If it had not been for the presence of a few dimly-lit windows within the vast building, I would have taken it for derelict, as indeed much of it really is. Readers may find it hard to believe that this is all that remains of the once grand premises of one of Sheffield’s few remaining and most prestigious cutlery firms.
The snow was beginning to settle and the wind was icy as I approached the cornerstone where the ancient poem was carved, and again I was shocked to see how much it had deteriorated in the time since my last visit. I quickly got out my camera and began to take some pictures, knowing that they wouldn’t be good. As I was snapping away on the otherwise deserted street a gentleman passed by, hurrying for his car or bus. He made a remark about the stone being an old fake, and when I asked why he said that, he pointed to the date. The gentleman turned out to be one of Taylor’s directors, but unlike some of his predecessors, and along with many others, he was unaware of the source of the stone. I explained, and said I was taking some pictures while the stone was still there. As he hurried away, the man told me, “It won’t be here much longer if the Council get their way.” I didn’t want to detain him further, but the remark greatly concerned me.
Back in Leeds, I began to try and find out a bit more about what the future may hold for the famous Eye Witness Works, and several things are clear, that Taylor’s no longer have a use for a factory of anything like that size (or even perhaps a factory at all) and are unable to maintain it, that there are attempts to undermine the building’s Grade 2 Listed status in order to facilitate a partial demolition and re-building, and that if any of the current structure is maintained at all, the interior will be lost, and the premises developed as flats for yuppies.
From what I can find, prior to this post, not one single picture exists on the internet of the stone carved by a Yorkshire bloke, down on his luck, 250 years ago. In fact almost nothing is written about the stone at all, and of course there are now vested interests for burying it, perhaps literally. I found one post on a British knife forum in which the poster related that their aunt had lived in the area and that there was a legend that a man had carved the poem before hanging himself from a nearby lamppost. However, if the date on the stone is accurate, the stone was not in its current position when it was carved, which I imagine took longer than a few minutes, and I doubt that there were too many lampposts around in those days.
The fate of the poet is of course a mystery, the fate of his poem, sadly, is probably more predictable. For the moment at least though, the historic factory and the carved stone that sits at its corner can still be seen, but like much of Sheffield’s history, it stands neglected, largely unloved and uncared for, decomposing before our eyes, and inevitably soon to disappear.
My Bladeforums knife in Sheffield yesterday
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. Anyway, they put in a development on our old country road, about a 1/4 mile from our house. The people are very friendly, well, most of them, but they all said they wanted to move into the country. Well, why didn't they build a house in the neighborhood, or buy some farm land and put up a house? I don't know. I guess I can't complain, the old McCormick (spice company) family plantation is what the neighborhood is built on. The old timers 80 years ago must've thought the neighborhood was going to heck in a handbasket when they busted that property up. 