Once upon a long time ago when I had just started school and had managed to convince Grandma and Sarah (who was now helping Mother) that I could go to school on my own, I set off, running as fast as I could, after furiously waving them goodbye.
I ran because I wanted to go to school a special way - to look at things and places. There were several ways of going to school.

I lived in High Street. If you walked down High Street the first street off to the left was Rigby Street - a street that was never finished - but ran out into common land that was neither field, allotment or even building site (actually to the edge of the Stanley Coronation Park before it was reduced in size - see the map in the map book - editor!). The right-hand side housed the bigger families, the Jones' and Homson's mainly, Mrs Jones and Mrs Homson were sisters. The second street to the left was Barnes Road. The school was situated in Barnes Road.
After the few houses the right-hand side of Rigby Street ended abruptly and then, towards the rear of the houses it descended to a sort of builders yard that was always known as the "brick-croft".

If ever I wanted to accompany Syd Jones to school or to call on his Mother (there was always a bacon butty if I did), I went this way. Or if I wanted to see if there was anything new in the brick-croft I went this way too. Occasionally it involved climbing over big piles of bricks or slates - never rubble. More often than not the path was clear.

Frequently after a new load of bricks had been dropped, by some strange means or some peculiar grapevine, the children of the immediate neighbourhood heard, and would come in good numbers, to build and play with the bricks.
The girls always built houses plan-like and with no walls; the boys were more ambitious and piled brick on brick and built walls, towers and even turrets. The added dimension meant much to them and their accomplishments had to be seen to be believed.

Very few accidents happened; this helped to prove the old dictum that God took special care of children and drunks, particularly when dealing with bricks and boys.
An accident did occur of particular significance after four o'clock that afternoon.

Being in the same class and going part-way together home, Syd and I approached the brick-croft. Nearing the croft we each filled our pockets with bits of broken slate to throw as 'skaters'. One could throw these skaters and make them bounce two or three times over water, but lacking a pond, sea or reservoir you could make them spin at a fair rate and distance over land.

We threw the skaters hard into placed we considered safe. The last few towards each other as we separated and the distance between us grew. I had grown bored and turned away and was heading for home when I felt a sharp blow to my temple. After the blow it felt strangely warm - and I felt and then saw . . blood! I must have yelled from fright as I felt no pain then nor at anytime afterwards. I stood bewildered, but it seemed only seconds before a crowd gathered with handkerchiefs, then Mrs Jones in full cry with Syd, berating Syd and carrying me to her home.
As she fussed over me - and she did fuss - I was staring at Syd, now wild-eyed and sobbing and fascinated by the bandage Mrs Jones had wound round my forehead. I was later collected by Sarah who accepted my explanation and solaced Syd by telling him I bore no malice and would see him again tomorrow.
I did - and many morrows after that, as the accident had given Mrs Jones added concern as to my well-being but, too, added love, and I was fully accepted into their household and family.

Mrs Jones had seven or eight sons and no daughters so I added to her work rather than give her any help. She was genuinely pleased to have me about the house and we had several long conversations about old Skem and its odd but kind folk like Rafe Lawrence, a professional pig-killer, who never charged poorer people but who would accept a piece of bacon from the slaughtered pig in lieu. She always added as an aside, that this bacon was always given to her, and Jim Mason the Baker who had no lads of his own would borrow hers for odd jobs and errands, and would give her stale bread and buns - before they were stale as it were. Even rough old Joe Clough who had never worked a day in his life but supplied rabbits to the poor very cheaply, would hide a couple in the brick-croft and tell her where to find them. This, because work was hard to find let alone keep in Skem and many other places, and though Mr Jones was known to be a hard worker he found regular employment hard to find.
I was telling you, this 'accident' enabled me to almost live at the Jones'. Even Sarah, though jealously inclined, didn't mind me going and Mother was delighted when I finally convinced her Mrs Jones had said I caused her no extra work

It was on a Saturday morning I remember plainly, when the Miracle happened. Mrs Jones was more harassed than usual, and was showing the strain. It was early and I had dashed down to Rigby Street immediately after breakfast. The Jones' children were wakening and edging down the stairs at erratic intervals.
Mrs Jones cooked on a coal fire that burned nearly everything it was given to burn. The children stated what they would like for breakfast almost before they had rubbed the sleep from their eyes, and into the frying pan it would go. Even in this busy time she talked to me and was telling me of more Skem folk's behaviour when they were younger. She concentrated on the correctness of the history as well as the cooking. I saw her wipe the inside of the pan whilst it was still on the fire - I remember being worried lest she burnt her hands. Even as I watched, the cloth lay folded in a long, straight padded fashion in the pan. Then Syd called to me and I glanced at him quickly then, as quickly, darted back at the pan and - lo and behold - the cloth had turned into bacon! No wonder the Jones' could and did have so many bacon butties. I didn't breathe it to a soul then. Grown-ups didn't always believe you!

I told of it afterwards though, when Miss Ecclestone was telling us of the miracles Jesus did and how it was there were no real miracles performed 'nowadays'. Before she could lead up to events that seemed miracle-like I had to tell her about the bacon and Mrs Jones. She smiled and accepted it with the comment that she had often thought she had seen a miracle but had forgotten it soon after thanking God for letting her see it. There were so many miracles in fact, we were apt to take them for granted.

My family learned of the incident but it was never mentioned until I was nearly grown up - nine years old I remember! The family were at Sunday dinner, most of our parliaments were held then, when the topic of miracles came up. I think it had been the subject at Sunday School. One of Dad's cousins - only a little older than Nellie but much more sophisticated - was having dinner with us and I told of turning cloth into bacon. Janey laughed - Mrs Jones was a 'slut' of a woman who should have arranged breakfasts differently and washed out the pan with real hot water, she said. Mother who now had some practical knowledge of the subject said she was like the "woman who lived in a shoe and had so many children she didn't know what to do". But I thought, both then and for a long time after - it had been a miracle.

Skem became a very poor town indeed - mills and mines in neighbouring towns closed - an estate of a local Earl went bankrupt and caused more to be out of work. Almost all male labour was casual and so casual it almost ceased to exist. Local papers featured large adverts for jobs in the South Yorkshire coalfield. A lot of 'Skemmers', including my family and that of the Jones' and Homson's went in faith, believing!
Many years afterwards in Yorkshire I came across Mrs Jones again. I told her of that earlier 'miracle' and she laughed and cried at the same time, confessing that that was no miracle - but that the promised '£1 a day' of the adverts hadn't lasted long.

They had come to Yorkshire early 1925. There had been a strike or lock-out in 1926 - when she had to perform miracles to live, and these for a long time. Work and wages had never bucked up, and there were no Rafe Lawrence's or Joe Clough's in Yorkshire - it being an industrial area, but God had helped them and just as their sons had been born at regular intervals so they went to work at regular intervals and their income grew steadily.

Many, many years later I both witnessed and experienced miracles but freely admit that Rigby Street was the locality of my first and greatest one.
Truly - things are not always what they seem - even though the poor are with us always and all ways.

When George the Fifth died I was given a memento in the form of a pretty card with a mauve ribbon at the top, and underneath were the ten maxims of the late King. I hung it on the wall of the Office I then worked in. One of the maxims read "Help us to remember that poverty and riches are of the spirit". I could never read it without remembering Mrs Jones and Skem and how very rich she was then, without recognising it.