Romping Cat

The Romping Cat, Salford

The adjacent convenient Police Station

The Romping Cat, Salford

Pentre House as it is now known, hides beneath some of its soft Cheshire red brick exterior, a 17th century or possibly even older, timber framework, complete with wattle and daube panels that when exposed to the air by our renovations back in the seventies, exuded a sulphurous odour of rotten fish whenever the weather turned mild.

They were soon re-plastered leaving just the oak on view. Many of the older houses in the village will have been extended and modernised over the centuries to conceal their humble origins.

The oldest part of our house is what was once the tap room in the centre with the shallow cellar adjacent, complete with open drain and spring water running through it to keep the ale cool. A green solution ahead of its time. The floor consisted of six varieties of ceramic tile both of different colour and size, laid on sand which happens to be the ground the house is built on.

Renovation commenced with the estimable help of the late Les Walley of Hankelow and we found one coin which turned out to be a token. They were in fairly common use at one time.

The bedroom floor above had a similar patchwork of floorboards, the oldest ones were fifteen-inch-wide oak planks that had warped and cobbled over the centuries. They remain untouched but I eventually had to cover them with a floating floor of chipboard as the boys' bed legs had a habit of appearing through the kitchen ceiling if a knothole gave way.

The ceiling above the beds also had to be renewed and revealed laths nailed to tree branches which accounted for its uneven, lumpy surface. The plasterboard required straight lines and new timber, but the old branches are still in place for another generation to marvel at.

The house was extended in 1837 according to the sandstone plaque on the front gable and some of the old dwelling knocked down according to the debris which we found when trenching to renew the drains. This was an expense we had not allowed for initially, but which became essential following upon a memorable New Year party to celebrate the new decade in 1980 when both our toilets blocked up simultaneously the next morning. With desperate guests staying over and with hangovers to match it transpired that our toddler had discovered a new game of flushing empty yogurt pots down the loo. On digging up the drain I found that instead of ceramic, socketed joint pipes, the drain consisted of soft clay field drains, just butted up and into which the yoghurt pots fitted perfectly.

Children are the test of true love.

In the front bedroom of the 1837 extension, I had to lift floorboards for the rewire and discovered small diameter lead gas piping, obviously installed after 1863 when the railway came to the village and which had enabled a gas plant to be built, somewhere near what is now the sewage works, I believe. The village then had gas street lighting installed. (Gasworks closed in 1930)

I also discovered under that floor the largest mouse nest I have ever come across, as it filled the joists completely for the entire 14 feet of the room. Generations of harvest mice had made it their winter quarters, presumably gaining access through the old wattle panels at the side of the staircase. I removed sacks of dried moss, grass and other detritus complete with skeletons of the departed. I wonder if they are still in residence, but I'm in no hurry to find out.

In the early 19th century coach travel was at its peak before the railways came and many inns were to be found in villages, serving the needs of weary travellers and to rest horses.

But along-side the main hostelries were to be found a plethora of small ale houses that provided a necessary service to local men who had spent long days labouring in the fields. In addition, this was a time before mains water became available and ale, which was weak of strength compared with modern beers, was a much safer alternative to drink than water and tea was an expense only affordable by people of adequate means.

Every village or locality had several ale houses to satisfy the demand and the Romping Cat would have been one of them.

In the census of either 1851 or 61, I forget which, it revealed that eleven people resided here, but as the entire village only had a population of 1,591 at the earlier census, it was not an insignificant number.

Furthermore, it was so handy for Audlem's first police station, built on the other side of the road in 1853 at a cost of £500 by Peter Shuker, complete with three outdoor cells and manned by a Superintendent who in 1860 was John Morgan, no relation that I am aware of.

I was informed by a Salford resident, now deceased, that three constables were stationed here as Audlem was a den of iniquity in those days.

This fact is confirmed by a charming letter written by the wife of Cannon Atkinson who was the incumbent from1865 to 1896 in which she describes Audlem as, 'Pretty well at the end of all things.' Its an amusing description of the state of affairs in the village in 1860 and hopefully the editor will publish it at the conclusion of this piece.

Regarding the dame school, it appears that the village had several such schools over a period which were little more than nurseries and that in fact Pentre House as it was by then known, was the site of a preparatory school in 1939 run by a Mrs Knowles, according to the excellent book; Audlem, The history of a Cheshire Parish and its five townships. The same year also records that a school of Riding and Hunting was established at The Lymes, proprietor F R Hance. War preparations notwithstanding!

Peter Morgan
February 2021

Mrs Atkinson's Letter

The Extract from Mrs Atkinson's letter are taken from the excellent leaflet; 700 years of Audlem's History, printed for the 1996 celebration of the Granting of the Market Charter by Edward 1 in 1296