Leaderboard

Anyone know how much it sold for? Lot 185 isn't listed in the results, which jump from 184 to 187, presumably it didn't sell?

Harry Epworth Allen 'Jordanthorpe Farm - Sir Frances Chantrey's Birthplace'

This is my personal record of starting out as a young copper with my mashing can in my haversack in Central Division in Sheffield. Police Dog-gerel. There is a mystery, a litany of names I come to learn, As when I take my place in that great establishment They call Police. My uniform, of serge and midnight blue, with shirt and collar, too, With cape and greatcoat well supplied, I heave it on and wear with pride. A stick, a pair handcuffs strong, I march to face the public throng, Earnestly to right all wrong. But first I have to learn the lines, A poem of historic times, Each a name I must rehearse. These names a street or place bely, Some so odd you wonder why, But soon it all becomes a piece. These names will ring to city folk a chord, a bell, a laugh, a joke. And yet they are a litany. From Bow to Eldon, Moorhead, Lansdown, Sharrow, and Town Hall These are the places I will call, the places no man mocks, For these are places Where the law is kept, The place they call The Beat Box. Bridgehouses, Infirmary, Ellesmere, Wicker, Nursery and Fitzalan. Hereford and Leveson, Gower and Broomhall, All these names I call, Midland, Granville, Christ Church, All Saints, Places holy, Park Hill and Sheaf Pomona, Bow and places lowly, Exchange and Midland I could go on But learn I must. From each of these I pound the beat, In boot or shoe With aching feet A hundred years and more They’ve stood, watching over Neighbourhood, They’ve seen their bobbies come and go, Seen the street life’s ebb and flow, Seen the snow and gale-born rain, Seen the hurt and seen the pain Of folk whose need is plain. A missing child, a stolen bike, A drunken neighbour, Noisy Tyke, The Police Box is to all A place to go whenever Winds of misfortune blow They come and ask, The Innocent, the course and rude, the blustering fool, the helpless in their downcast mood. Often painted cream and green, The police box is a scene Now gone. But still the memory Lingers on, of sandwiches at 2am, Luke warm tea and then a scone And once again unto the night, Watching ever, Keeping guard. Like shepherds watching flocks. I bless that place, the old Police Box. (PC 441 B Div 1961 -1964) STRICTLY COPYRIGHT

All is revealed. 😁

Morning Telegraph 1973. C'est moi.

Looks like Howard Road / Commonside maybe.