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Only odd because we've somewhat lost the original sense. Round about 1200 the phrase "Ȝif þou þis nelt don þou salt don worse" (If thou this not done, thou shalt do worse = If you don't do this, you'll do worse). This is the earliest example in the OED of "to do" being used in the sense of "to fare" or "to get on". A little later there is "‘We sal’, he said, ‘do nu ful wele’" (We shall, he said, do now full well) and later still "Your horsyn do well" (horses). In 1697 the phrase "There, how d'ye do now?" was recorded and by 1738 "How do you do, Tom?". You might be thought a bit odd, but "How do you fare" would be a modern replacement. Anyhow, thanks for triggering off a wander through the OED, always fascinating.

When I was growing up in the early 60's we knew most people who lived on the road, and I agree it's not like that nowadays, we are all more insular. One good thing coming out of the pandemic has been the setting up of community groups, although now on Facebook! Around us the group has sorted out shopping for people who were shielding, lending items, organising Easter egg hunts and treasure trails for the local kids, distributing surplus garden produce, the list goes on. So maybe there is a "community spirit", it's just different to what it used to be, if it will last once all this is over remains to be seen.

You raise an interesting point. Though most of our neighbours in Gleadless Avenue had been there for years (the houses were, I think, built in the 1920s), my parents were Chesterfield people and moved there only shortly before I was born, at the end of the 1940s. Certainly the Ledgers were long-established in the area: they had taken their house over from a man named Eddie Jarvis, who was a family member Yet I never felt any sense of "us and them". People just helped each other, perhaps not consciously, but because that was what you naturally did. A few days ago I was sifting through some old documents of my late father's, which included the programmes for plays which he produced at his various schools. One, from Woodhouse Grammar School, 1957, included a credit to "A. Lane, Hillsborough" for the loan of furniture to use on stage. Mr. Lane lived three doors up from us on the Avenue. It must have been shortly after that that I got a brand-new wardrobe for my bedroom, supplied by Mr. Lane's shop - an example of neighbours helping each other in their own ways.

At first, starting to read this topic, I thought of Organgrinder as "Axegrinder" as he seemed intent on dismissing any aspect of recent Sheffield history as irrelevant. As I share the opinion, expressed by another poster, that history begins yesterday, I could not agree with his sentiments. But, the more I read of his posts, the more I agreed with them, especially on the subject of community. I spent my first 13 years in lower-middle-class Gleadless Avenue; I did not have the concept of "community" then, having known nothing different, but looking back, I can see that it certainly did exist. If Mum needed to go out while Dad was at work, and couldn't take me with her, no problem: Mr. and Mrs. Settle next door would look after me until she got back - no need to pay for a child-minder. If my parents needed help with anything, Auntie Betty and Uncle Bert (Mr. & Mrs. Ledger) across the road would always help willingly, and my parents would do the same for them. We even borrowed a dog from along the road: if there were meat scraps left over, I'd be sent to fetch Major, the boxer dog which lived at one of the two shops at the end of the Avenue, he'd come in, wolf the food down and then stretch out and go to sleep in front of our fire. I'm sure there were many instances of everyday neigbourliness which went over my head; I wasn't yet 14 when we left Gleadless to move to Leicestershire, and I've lived in many counties - and two countries - since then but I don't think I've ever experienced such a sense of natural community anywhere else.

I found it so sad to read that and I'm afraid that I can't explain why there should be such a difference in our memories and feelings. I grew up in a yard in Heeley and my Grandma lived at the end house in the same yard and her mother had lived next door but one to us (but died before I was born). In my early married life, I got the tenancy of the house next door to my mothers and my sister got the tenancy of the house where my Grandma had lived. When I was very young, all the neighbours were like second parents to us and we wandered at will into most houses on the yard. I always felt that we were surrounded by love and caring even though we were all very poor financially. That was home and, in my mind, always will be. We certainly were not "making the best of a bad lot" although, at the time, I didn't realise how fortunate I was and how badly I would miss those days and Sheffield as a whole. Those are the riches I remember and that, to me, made us as rich as the Royals. I feel sorry that, for some unexplained reason, you didn't have the same.

I think that what Fentonvillain was saying is that there could be numerous reasons why people would not use public transport even if it was cheap. In the case of our family, I had 2 younger siblings so we always had either a pram or pushchair with us. A pram wouldn't fit in the small loading area of a backloader bus. The pushchair had a handle which folded and would just fit there if no one else had any luggage under there. It was a lot less trouble to forget the bus and walk and my old grandma walked to town almost every day and rarely used the buses. To this day, I will not use public transport unless there is no alternative and have not been on a bus for 20 years or more. More than 75 years later from the times I am recalling, I still walk almost every day, a similar distance to what we did then because, I enjoy it and it's good for ones health. As Fentonvillain said, us kids may have been given the bus fare when we went out, (maybe swimming at Millhouses) but we hardly ever used the bus when we could spend the money on a treat instead. All my friends and their families lived their lives in the same manner so I don't think it's us who were the odd ones out. I have a problem understanding this modern need to be carried everywhere we go when most of us have perfectly usable legs. Although you may differ, to me they were lovely, happy times and I would go back in a heartbeat if I could.

You really would have to have been born into a certain class of society and in a certain period to really appreciate the benefits of the rag n tag, Norfolk Market Hall and Dixon Lane. It wasn't about prices (which were as low as they could get), nor was it about quality (which was as varied as you chose), it was about COMMUNITY. A community that travelled together on trams and buses, not cars, that walked long distances without thinking it extraordinary, that faced hardships such as coal rationing, very long snowbound winters and basic foodstuffs and which above all related to one another. This last part applied on the streets, in the pubs, in the churches, and in the mucky, disease provoking workshops of an industrial city which was proud of its name. Those contributors here who denigrate the atmosphere of the Saturday markets can not have had a life rooted in such fertile ambience. You could not go "to town" on a Saturday without meeting several acquaintances or relatives. It was a village atmosphere in a city. Now such puritan architecture experts try to re-create such an ambience with false identities like Poundbury. You can't. Meadowhall will never be like the rag n tag. It was there. We loved it. We missed it and will miss it for all our remaining days along with the colourful characters who you see in the historic black and white photos. Cherish the photos. Regret that you didn't experience it. For it was US....US SHEFFIELDERS...us carrying coal from the canal wharf in a barrow, picking up horsemuck for the tiny rosebed in the backyard, clearing the snow off our front, spreading coke on icebound steep footpaths, and visiting family every Saturday on Sunday, unannounced but always welcomed. This WAS life! A postal order from your grandad at Christmas was like a win on the treble chance. An apple and an orange a fruitful bounty. Everything that came after that was, by comparison, shallow and lifeless. You can have your nightclubs and your cocktail bars. You have NOT lived. The writer's grandmother sold flowers in Dixon Lane from an upturned fruitbox. She was killed by an unlicensed teenage driver as she crossed East Bank Road on her way home . RIP Martha Westnidge. RIP the best days of our life.

I understand what you are saying, but at the same time capturing photos of the redevelopment will become part of history research in the future. I'm sure we would all love to see photos of Barkers Pool (the actual pool) being constructed, or the construction of the Queens Head pub off Pond Street, or of course Sheffield Castle. At the time of that construction, it would have probably appeared quite boring, only becoming interesting in years to come. As my old history teacher used to tell us - 'What happens today, becomes history tomorrow'.

The phrase continues...." Nah then thee,ars tha?" A simple request asking how somebody is....often the response would be...." Alrayt, ars tha"?

Seeing the cement factory brought a smile to my face! I was installing a heating system at a farm on the hillside over looking Castleton some time in the late 60s. The farmer was having a running battle with Peak Planning about the sighting of his caravan, Peak Planning wanted it storing out of sight so it couldn't be seen from the Villiage. The farmer replied using a few choice words!! when you take down that chimney I'll shift my caravan.