Stanley Marsden (b.1924) owned Allen Syke Farm on Redmires Road. Here is Alan’s adaptation of his reminiscences, taken from Dr Ian Russel’s 1974 Ph D thesis: Singing in West Sheffield 1970-2. – White Rose eTheses …
Stanley Marsden (b. 1924) comes from a remarkable Fulwood family. First mentioned in Fairbanks Survey of 1792, one Richard Marsden and his wife lived at Bole Hill Farm. It was their three grandchildren, after whom the Three Merry Lads public house was named in about 1832.
The youngest, Benjamin (b. 1819), married his employer’s daughter, Mary Green of Fulwood Grange Farm and they had fourteen children. Zenas, the eldest, kept the Sportsman and his son Arthur, who took over the pub, was Stanley’s grandfather. Perhaps because Benjamin had sixty-six grandchildren, his descendants, aptly nicknamed the ‘Tribe of Benjamin’, come in for much local banter; – ‘They’re like horse muck, all o’er t’road.” Douglas Marsden, Frank Hinchliffe, Grace Walton and George White are also among his descendants.
Stanley owns and farms Allen Syke Farm which stands below the Sportsman on Redmires Road, Lodge Moor, at approximately nine hundred feet above sea level. Consisting of fifty-six acres, it is entirely grassland for pasture or hay. Although Stanley has kept pigs and sheep in the past, he now concentrates entirely on fattening cattle, about sixty calves and stores, which are first nursed and then finished on a mixture of barley and hay. He also keeps a few ponies for his two young daughters.
Stanley married late in life and his wife Jean, a schoolteacher, had two boys by a previous marriage. He obviously regrets having no sons of his own to take over the farm.
‘Actually it’s worse now than it’s ever been because, you’ see, I’ve nobody follerin’ me … I’ve no sons interested at all … It’s not always help that you need, it’s company sometimes. Somebody bein’ interested in it, because you think you’re doin’ all this for nobody. Makes you wonder whether it’s worth doing sometimes. If I didn’t belong to place like, if it were rented, I wouldn’t ‘ave it. I’d do something else, because, for money you’ve’ got to put into this job nowadays and what you get out of it, it’s stupid. A man’s not right upstairs really.’
Stanley’s disillusionment is understandable and contrasts with his usually good-humoured nature. It is also an attitude, which is common among land-holding families in general, who see their role as one of service rather than that of an entrepreneur. Moreover, family participation is considered a prerequisite of the fulfilment of their vocation. He was brought up on the farm and attended Mayfield School. He helped at home with the daily tasks from an early age and proudly records that he could milk before he started school, producing a photograph of himself in action at the age of three.
‘It used to be a nice job on a cold winter’s morning, you know. In summer it weren’t so good when it were hot like. It got sweaty and flies as well would make cows want to kick … Never got bored. I used to like it really, apart from — there’s many a time when I should ‘ave liked to ‘ave missed one, missed milking like. Still I’d do it again.’
In common with so many of his contemporaries it was this activity in particular that provided the best opportunity for singing and learning songs. Stanley acquired most of his songs in this way from his father, Arthur (Marsden)
‘When you were singing ’em regular and milkin’, you see, you just picked ’em up with him [father] and you sang ’em with him at finish … And if you were singing ’em wrong like, ‘e’d put you right, which ‘e used to do ‘cos ‘e used to say, that’s not it. It sempt to make it easier to milk….’
It is a strange legacy of this method of learning that Stanley often cannot remember an opening line or verse of a song, because he would not join in until after his father had started.
During the war the Irishmen stationed at Redmires Prisoner of War Camp behind the pub were keen singers and Stanley took advantage of their presence, if not to learn new songs, at least to try out those Irish songs he had learnt from his father. Both his father and grandfather had played the piano for old-time dancing.
…..Although Stanley emphasises the importance of the right atmosphere for singing he is not himself a regular pub-goer. This may also be a result of family pressure but it is more probable that it is by choice for he is an exceptionally hard worker. Before his marriage the farm had provided sufficient work for three men, his father, his brother, and himself, but now that Stanley is completely on his own he carefully limits his time off to a minimum. His routine day begins before 7.00 a.m. and he is rarely finished by 9.30 p.m. Moreover, he has firm views on drinking.
As a young man his favourite leisure-time activity was dancing, a liking for which he had inherited from his father. On a Saturday night he used to travel out to Bradwell via the Yorkshire Bridge and Travellers Rest, two pubs at Bamford.
‘They used to have ‘old-time’ in old hall on your right-hand side and ‘modern’ in Newburg on left-hand side — same night. If the one you wanted to find wasn’t in Newburg you went to old-time. If it got after a certain time used to let me in for nothing. Drinking … it’s spoilt me many a night, you know. I’d rather be dancing. I think it did and it spoilt your partners when you got there’.
Stanley adds to put the record straight
I didn’t very often take a partner with me. Always plenty of partners them days. T’ s reason I got married late.
Although it seems extremely doubtful that Stanley was at all reckless in his youth, marriage and the responsibilities of a family have obviously had an effect. Singing for Stanley is dwindling in importance and yet his enthusiasm continues especially in his relationship with Frank Hinchliffe. The two have much in common. They were childhood friends, though they attended different schools, for they were brought up on neighbouring farms. Frank’s father at that time farmed Wiggin Farm at the head of Crimicar Lane and continued to do so even after the move to Clough Fields. Later they were drinking companions especially during the last war when pub singing within the locality was in its heyday. Both had learnt to cut hair when the deprivation and isolation of war-time had forced the local farming community to be self-sufficient for the bulk of its needs. Stanley had started by cutting his father’s hair as well as taking over his only customer, Andrew Gregory. Before long he had over twenty regular customers, some of whom he still attends to today.
As if to permanently cement the relationship, Frank Hinchliffe married Stanley’s elder sister, Dorothy Marsden.
