THE FORGE, RICHARD JOHNSON & NEPHEW WIREWORKS,

MILL STREET, BRAFORD, MANCHESTER  11.

Sammy would let me and Joey help him sell the “Evening News” to the men as they clocked off work in the early evenings, sometimes. Before they called in for one on the way home. The blacksmith would stand outside his open door on hot days, revealing the white heat of the braising hearth and the pungent sulphurous acrid smell of coke. Where Tommy Bell, in his overalls and brothel creepers and his ginger DA well greased, did an impressive impromptu foot stomp jive in tribute to memories of Bill Haley and the Comets and “Rock Around the Clock” he’d seen at t’Royal.

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