a
Pe a r s
y
r
on
r
:
H
Serving the Teesside Business Community | 9
The Business Buzz
Teesside-born author Harry Pearson’s exclusive Tees Business
column – in this issue, Harry rekindles fond memories of his
regular visits to Linthorpe Road in his youth...
Tees retail revolution
is a real Turnip
Linthorpe Road in the 1970s
was home to the likes of
Upton’s, Romer Parrish’s,
Hamilton’s and Fearnley’s –
but times have changed.
Pictures courtesy of Middlesbrough Libraries
W
hen I was at primary school my
friend ‘Turnip’ Turner’s dad worked
at Upton’s department store. At
Christmas that had major consequences
because Mr Turnip got a staff discount on
toys.
In 1970 Turnip found a brand new Raleigh
Chopper Mk1 under the tree. It was blue and
black just like Boro’s away top.
Meanwhile my Dad – who worked at
Redpath Dorman Long and therefore likely
got a staff discount on girders – had to
inform me that Santa Claus’ budget didn’t run
to bikes with gear-sticks and I would have to
make do with a Hot Wheels set instead.
I wasn’t too disappointed, I’d been eyeing
up the Hot Wheels in Romer Parrish’s for
months. Romer Parrish’s toy shop was the
go-to destination for kids in Middlesbrough
on Saturday mornings.
My mother always saved it for last, making
me sit on a stool in Binns while she tried on
what seemed like 700 different skirts and I
tried not to get caught peeking at the 18-hour
girdles (which in the days before the internet
was as close to sexy thrills as youngsters
got, let me tell you).
Romer Parrish’s was both heaven and hell
for a child; heaven because it had everything
in it you wanted; hell because you only had
enough pocket money to buy one of them. In
my case usually anything that glowed in the
dark.
Upton’s closed down years ago and came
back as Psyche, while Romer Parrish’s is
about to be reborn as the Fork in Road
restaurant and community café.
There’s been a lot of re-purposing of
shops over the last few years on Teesside.
Hairdressers have become pubs, DIY
stores gin bars and, more recently, it was
announced that the old BHS will be reopening housing a branch of upmarket
fashion store Flannels.
There surely can’t have been a better time
to be a thread-conscious Teesside chap.
Back when I had some pretence to looking
vaguely snappy you went to Lord John or
a place called Sergeant Pepper that was
opposite the bus station. Aside from those
and an old school tailors called Wiseman’s
over by Bedford Street that had two-tone
trousers and button-down shirts left over
from the 1960s, you were cooked.
Music fans were better served. I still have
what I call records and my daughter insists
on calling ‘vinyl’ with sticky price labels from
Hamilton’s of Teesside and Alan Fearnley.
What shops they were, Hamilton’s had
musical instruments downstairs (inevitably in
the late ‘70s some rock chancer in head-totoe stonewashed denim would be playing
Carry On Wayward Son on a wire-legged
keyboard, pausing periodically to arrange his
long hair along the shoulders of his jacket, as
if girls were watching) and records upstairs,
the aisles usually boasting at least a couple
of Northern soul boys who liked to use the
lino floor to practice their spins.
Fearnley’s was up Linthorpe Road. “The
largest selection of Reggae and Soul records
on Teesside” his advert said, though the
bearded Fearnley looked more like a Van Der
Graaf Generator man.
Wedged between a photographer’s studio
and The Empire pub, Fearnley’s was narrow,
long, dark and dusty, more like an alleyway
than a shop, which made it all the more
appealing to us teenagers.
Both record shops are long gone. But
that’s the way things go.
My mother harks back to the days when
Binns had a chamber orchestra playing in the
palm court and my dad claims you haven’t
been able to get a decent sandwich in the
town since The Little Pork Shop closed down,
or a top class jap cake since