53 Botanic Road was bought for something like 900 pounds in the mid 1950s. Arthur Weldon and Dorothy Weldon (nee Edwards) lived there and had two sons, David (that's me, the good looking one) and Robert.
In the early 1960s Dorothy's father, John (Jack) Edwards moved in after his wife Betsey died. At some point around then the Cuban missile crisis went unnoticed as Arthur tried to carry my concrete filled Noddy tricycle up the steps at dusk.
The days seemed to be spent eating rissoles, drinking dandelion and burdock, watching the coalman drop the heavy sacks into the hole in the front path (about ten pounds for a ton of coal) and accidentally burning our best knitted cardigans on three bar electric fires while playing with our Bayko construction sets.
Not forgetting "bum-bum-bum-bum-Esso blue" and stinky paraffin heaters and if my memory serves me right, gas street lights.
It really doesn't get better than that. In 1966, England won the World cup and I went with Robert to Botanic park with the baseball bats that our Grandad had bought for us, I recall hitting Robert on the foot with my bat and him hopping around. A while later, Pickles the dog found the Jules Rimet cup in a hedge somewhere in London. The country breathed a sigh of relief.........
I made a return visit to Liverpool, It was a strange feeling being back at Botanic after over 40 years especially as I had not seen the development behind the road. I knew that Ridgeway Street and the subsequent streets had been demolished but I had not prepared myself for the state of decay over those years. Time (and tenants) have done a number on the entire area.
The railings on Botanic Park, once intimidating and twice my height are now level with my shoulders, I walked up to 53 Botanic, originally with the thought that I'd ask the inhabitants if I could have a photo taken on the steps in front of my old front door, to be shocked that the door was a sheet of galvanised steel with writing scrawled all over it. The houses felt smaller, because I was taller, but also because of the ugly wheelie bins and satellite dishes everywhere.
But it was a very warm feeling to stand in Botanic park, to have a flood of childhood memories and to take a few (well positioned) photo's of the area.
The family Church was rumoured to have gone from Beech Street, but I just didn't believe it. Of course, it was gone, replaced by a vanilla block of low rise flats.
How can they do things like that?.
They've erased my primary school (Clint Road), my dads shop (179 Wavertree Road, The Magnet, Toys and Fancy Goods) my church and my secondary school (Whiston County) and by the looks of things Botanic Road won't be that far away from the wrecking ball.
Botanic Park has lost it's sandpit and clubhouse, which when I was a youngster was a safe place to shelter during thunderstorms, the old toilets at the park entrance have long since gone, my mum always warned me away from that area. The dogs home has been dismantled and the bus repair depot, where we used to go on raids to grab ball-bearings, has long gone. It was a happy moment however, to still find one of the fountains standing, albeit in decay, the memories of climbing over the pristine cast iron monster as a boy were rekindled.
I’ll add stories to this blog about those early years, it’s going to be like this folks, backwards and forwards, sideways and every direction imaginable, and still, if I do this blog for the rest of my life it will never be complete, never be everything.
But it will be something.
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