What an unsacred cow scare

THE kneeling faithful leapt to their feet while the priest, arms waving and vestments flapping, raced to the rescue as a frantic runaway cow threatened to wreak havoc among the pews.

This was just one hairy episode from the era of the great town-centre cattle run, a twice-weekly challenge for local farmers and their herdsmen as they steered their beefstock through the streets of St Helens to the town-centre cattle grading station at Smithy Brow.

That particular Lowe House Church scare, in the middle of Mass, is graphically recounted for us by John Forster from Shoots Delph Farm, Moss Bank, who as a teenaged cow-hand helped to drive the herds on their pavement and tarmac-clad route to the Smithy Brow destination.

Happily, the church and congregation escaped unscathed as the priest gallants drove the wild-eyed cow out, to join the rest of the big round-up.

From 1940, meat was rationed and all livestock purchased by the Food Ministry, farmers being paid in shillings and pence per live hundredweight.

John has vivid memories of him and his farming relatives driving herds through the built-up area of town on Mondays and Tuesdays, and in the busy autumn on Wednesdays too.

Most of the time, things went relatively smoothly but on the odd occasion, when one of the beasts became spooked by a sudden noise or movement, mayhem could result.

John, still a cattle dealer, recalls broken shop windows, trampled gardens and terrified householders (suddenly confronted with a horned beast in the front parlour) trailing in the wake of the four-footed herd.

One cow even hopped on and off a stationary trolley bus. Yet, amazingly, this cow-punching ritual continued until around the 1950s.

As a 13-year-old school-leaver in 1946, John Forster was involved in it. "I helped to drive the cattle from three of our farms," says John, "the nearest being Cabbage Hall." This, now gone, was close to where the Windle Hotel now stands in Hard Lane, St Helens.

"The second was Fenney Bank at Moss Bank, farmed by my uncle, Willy Foster," he adds. The third was his dad, Jack Foster's, Shoots Delph Farm, a lofty spread along the Crank Caverns path which was John's home.

This was the furthest-flung of the three and presented its own particular problems, including the steep downward descent along Moss Bank hill.

Mondays were special days when John's dad would round up something like 200-plus cattle to be handled by three or four men, including John, together with Roy the cattle-dog. The cows would clatter down the slope of Moss Bank brow, scutter across the old railway level-crossing near the Railway pub and then face up to the challenge of crossing the busy East Lancashire Road, which had neither cattle bridge, lights nor proper crossing place.

Then the bellowing, anxious herd would head through Windle City and down North Road towards the final, though most hazardous, lap of the journey to the abbatoir at Smithy Brow.

"The children of Higher Grade School (now demolished and replaced by YMCA accommodation) sometimes caused mayhem by shouting and screaming," recalls John.

"And on one never-to-be-forgotten occasion a cow entered the furniture shop of Sarah Ann Taylor (known to locals as Sir Ann Taylor). It rejoined the rest of the herd by walking straight through the plate-glass display window!"

The old Central railway station had to be by-passed and the way to one of the most tricky parts of the drive - Victoria Square.

"Imagine trying to divert 200 cattle past an eight-street junction," says John in recalling the time when things were made even more difficult by the leaving open of gates leading down to the cellars of the Gamble Institute library.

About 20 of the beasts galloped down the steps and took plenty of persuading to get them out again.

Another cow walked straight through an open front door to be shooed out by the indignant housewife.

It might sound astonishing now, but the herd was then driven into the top end of the main shopping drag of Church Street before negotiating the railway bridge and finally into Smithy Brow.

"The cow that stepped aboard a trolley bus was turned round the centre passenger handrail and back on to North Road," explains John, who also recalls a few problems at the very start of that hectic cattle drive.

"Any odd cows straying into the Moss Bank Mission School were shooed out by Mr Firth the headmaster, much to the bewilderment of the young pupils.

Well-remembered characters from the town's butchering past - including Norman Holt, Arthur McColl, Syd Fairclough and Harry Done - were kept busy with the weighing and cattle grading then.

The cattle were then allocated to all parts of Lancashire though some were driven back, into the heart of St Helens to the old Foundry Street abbatoir .

"Jack Burrows would give us a bob or two to do this for him," says John, "to save the slaughtermen walking them from Smithy Brow."

WHAT a splendid peep into the past, John! Makes St Helens sound as if it was once a wild North-West frontier town!

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