I walked into Shambles on the square yesterday and commented to the lady behind the counter that what I heard as I went in was a dirty laugh.... I had forgotten that she was Phyliss Watson's daughter. The pic is Phyliss at going home time when she was a weaver at Bancroft. That started me off about her and her daughter told her friend that I had written 'a lovely piece' in the paper when she died.... Nice! Every now and then you get confirmation that to some folk at least, the articles in the BET have meaning.
Phyliss was a one off and fit to travel. She knew I had a soft spot for her and we never had a wrong word.... I was pulling her leg one day and asked if she was an expensive night out. She said it depended on the bloke and in my case a gill of bitter and a bag of chips would do it.....


I wonder if there are still workplaces where you can be as happy as we were at Bancroft. The weavers all agreed that despite the hard work and primitive conditions Bancroft was a holiday camp.
I still cherish the memory of Phyliss and Mary Cawdrey telling me in great detail exactly what Marlon Brando did with half a pound of butter in 'Last Tango in Paris'!
Mary doing a spot of tackling for herself, she's putting fur in the nose of the shuttle to apply a bit of resistance to the weft to stop it snarling up and breaking. Normally the province of the tackler but who could argue with a woman like this? Happy days and wonderful women!