The lamp-lighter, Berry Street, Preston

Heading home from Stoneygate Primary School in winter was a bit of an ordeal for me, as dusk came early and the dark narrow streets looked quite foreboding. At times, strange figures stood on corners, or in doorways, some of them muttering strange words to themselves and looked at me oddly. No, I didn’t like going home up Berry Street, Preston, when it was getting dark.

But there was one thing that made me breathe easier when I stepped out of the school doorway and walk down the short paved pathway into the street. Sometimes I’d be in times to catch the lamp-lighter just starting his rounds up Berry Street. I’d give a little grunt of pleasure as I quickly crossed Avenham Lane to fall in behind him. The first time I didn’t know what to expect but caught on quickly enough.

Approaching the first street lamp with a long pole carried on one shoulder, he’d stop and swing the pole round and look up at the lamp. The pole had a small hook sticking out at the top, with a small lighted wick a few inches away. He’d reach up with the pole and using the hook, open the glass door of the lamp, reach in with the hook and turn on the gas, all in one smooth move. A quick turn of the pole brought the lighted wick close enough to ignite the gas and the gas-mantle would light in several colours, faintly at first, before settling down to glow with a warm and steady light. The door would be closed, the pole placed back on one shoulder and with measured step he’d proceed to the next lamp up the street. It was so very comforting to walk up the street behind the lamp-lighter.

At the top of the street we’d part company, for I had now only to open a small door set in a wall and I’d be safely in the grounds of the Shepherd Street Mission Children’s Home. I’d often pause for a moment while the lamp-lighter was still around and gaze down the street, now illuminated by a line of lamps. Berry Street had lost its dark and dreadful aspect and taken on a more cheerful face. Gas lamps and cobbled streets had a charm of their own at times.

Dennis Crompton © 1995
(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)