Cub Reporter

Picture this: It is Friday, September the 8th, 1967, a newspaper office in the West Riding of Yorkshire, a junior reporter, a cub, sits at his typewriter, eyes shut, each hand resting on his pale, work-worn pine desk either side of an ancient American made Imperial typewriter. He appears deep in thought. Aged 25 and in his fifth year on the staff of the century old South Yorkshire Times weekly newspaper, the budding hack, noted for his imaginative flair, is ‘writing up’, posting his latest assignment for the century old South Yorkshire Times newspaper, based in the quirky mining/market town of Mexborough. That was me,of course, so fifty years after the event I thought it was time to place on record a series of ramblings which are a clue to which I fell in love with that town, that paper, that precious opportunity to immerse myself in the best job in the world, that if a weekly paper hack….

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Dying for a good read: long live Effie!

The little boy’s body hung, limp, dripping, from the hooked implement which had fished him from the depths of the South Yorkshire Navigation Canal, at Mexborough.
He had brown tousled hair, was kitted out as neat as when dressed by mum that morning with dark, short trousers, and sporting one of those patterned cardies that Granville wore in ‘Open All Hours’.

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