Furness Whisper

Furness Whisper history isn't just the past – it's a living story! Share vintage photos, uncover hidden tales, and discover the hidden gems of our towns.

Let's shape the narrative together, celebrating our heritage where past meets present.

One of the biggest hits on my local history blogs has been my post about Sass. According to Facebook, more than 4,000 pe...
26/08/2026

One of the biggest hits on my local history blogs has been my post about Sass. According to Facebook, more than 4,000 people have viewed it, and I have also been asked a few times to dive back into the research and see if I can uncover anything new.

So that is exactly what I have been doing.

One of the biggest mysteries has always been the famous No. 2 Acid. I still have not found any surviving evidence that actually tells us what No. 2 Acid was, but after going back through the history and looking at what was happening during the 1990s, I have now come to two possible conclusions.

I am not claiming either of them is definitely the answer. At the moment they are just theories based on what I have been able to piece together, but I do think we may finally be getting closer to understanding what No. 2 Acid could have been.

There is another part of the story that is causing me a headache though, and this is where I am hoping some of you might be able to help.

I know Marsh’s was sold to T. Brady, and I know T. Brady also ran Thompsons pop, but what year did Marsh’s actually change hands?

Then in 1993, something was acquired by Purity Soft Drinks.

But what exactly did Purity buy?

Was it Marsh’s itself?

Was it the soft-drink side of the business?

Was it the Sass brand?

The recipe?

The machinery and production?

Or simply the rights to manufacture and distribute the drinks?

This is where things get confusing, because HMRC records still appear to show T. Brady as owning Marsh’s.

So this is where I am throwing it open to everyone reading.

Can anyone fill in the missing pieces?

Does anybody remember when Marsh’s changed hands, what T. Brady actually took over, or exactly what Purity Soft Drinks acquired in 1993?

If you worked there, knew somebody who did, or have old paperwork, adverts, invoices, bottle labels, photographs, newspaper cuttings or anything else connected with Marsh’s, T. Brady, Thompsons or Purity Soft Drinks, I would love to see it.

There is clearly a gap in the story somewhere, and I am hoping somebody out there can help fill it in.

Once I can get this part nailed down properly, I will share what I have found about No. 2 Acid and the two possible answers I have come across..

 # Nowstalgia Update – Series 1000–1999 Is Now Livehttps://furness-whisper.uk/nowstalgia.phpAnother big step forward for...
23/08/2026

# Nowstalgia Update – Series 1000–1999 Is Now Live

https://furness-whisper.uk/nowstalgia.php

Another big step forward for the Furness Whisper Nowstalgia Gallery!

Series 0–999 has been available on the website for a while, but it has now been joined by Series 1000–1999, giving you two full series to explore.

That means the first 2,000 image numbers can now be browsed through online, with another huge slice of Furness history opened up for everyone to see.

This is the part of the project I really enjoy. You can open one photograph intending to have a quick look and suddenly find yourself studying every corner of it — an old shop sign above a doorway, smoke drifting above distant chimneys, a familiar street before modern buildings arrived, workers standing outside a yard, ships beside the docks or a row of houses that has completely vanished from the landscape.

Sometimes you recognise somewhere instantly. Other times there is just one tiny clue — the bend of a road, the shape of a roof, a church tower breaking the skyline or lettering barely visible in the background — and suddenly the whole scene starts to make sense.

It is those little details that can bring an old photograph back to life.

Series 1000–1999 is the latest section to go live, but work has already moved on behind the scenes.

Series 2000–2999 is currently being proofread, with the descriptions being checked, corrected and prepared before the next thousand image numbers are added to the gallery.

So while you are exploring the two series already available, I am working my way through the third.

There is still a mountain of photographs ahead, but watching the gallery grow series by series makes all those hours of writing, checking and uploading worthwhile.

Have a proper look through the photographs, zoom into the backgrounds and see what catches your eye. You might recognise a building, workplace, street or little detail that has been forgotten for decades.

And if you do recognise something, please get in touch. Local knowledge can sometimes turn the smallest clue into another piece of Furness history.

Explore the Nowstalgia Gallery here:

https://furness-whisper.uk/nowstalgia.php

Series 0–999 — already available
Series 1000–1999 — newly added
Series 2000–2999 — currently being proofread

And there is plenty more still to come.

Browse the Nowstalgia Gallery — historic photographs of Furness where today's memories meet our heritage. Archive photos and then & now comparisons.

Barrow’s Lost Tank: Why It Came to Biggar Bank and Why We Lost ItWalk across Biggar Bank today and there is little to su...
22/08/2026

Barrow’s Lost Tank: Why It Came to Biggar Bank and Why We Lost It

Walk across Biggar Bank today and there is little to suggest that a First World War tank once stood there, raised on a mound of stone and looking out across the Irish Sea.

Just over a century ago, the scene was very different. Families made their way across to Walney for a day away from the crowded streets and heavy industry of Barrow. Trams rattled towards Biggar Bank, children headed for the open ground and beach, and voices carried across the bank above the sound of the sea.

Then, rising above it all, was something nobody visiting Biggar Bank today would expect to find.

A First World War tank.

Its enormous tracks wrapped around the angular body, thick armour plates were held together by rows of rivets, and the whole machine rested heavily upon a mound of stone. Against the open landscape of Walney, it must have been an extraordinary sight.

But the tank had not simply been abandoned there when the First World War ended.

Barrow had been given it.

Why Barrow Got the Tank

When Britain entered the First World War in August 1914, Barrow-in-Furness was already one of the country’s great centres of shipbuilding and heavy engineering.

Vickers dominated much of the town’s working life. Inside the shipyard, submarines and warships took shape beside the docks while the engineering works produced guns, ammunition and other equipment needed by Britain’s armed forces.

When war came, the pressure increased enormously.

Thousands of workers passed through the gates. Machinery thundered through workshops, steel rang beneath tools and cranes moved above the shipyard as new vessels slowly grew upon the slips.

During the First World War, the Barrow yard produced more than sixty vessels, including forty-eight submarines, six cruisers, two battleships and two refuelling tankers.

For the people of Barrow, the war was not something happening only on distant battlefields. Its demands could be seen and heard throughout the town every working day.

But ships, submarines and weapons were only part of what Britain needed.

War cost an enormous amount of money.

Across the country, ordinary people were encouraged to invest their savings in War Savings Certificates and War Bonds. In simple terms, people were lending their money to the Government to help Britain continue fighting.

The Government soon found a dramatic way of attracting attention to the campaign.

It used tanks.

These machines were still something astonishing to most people. Britain had first used tanks in battle in 1916, and within a short time their strange shape and enormous tracks had become one of the best-known images of the war.

Several tanks were sent around Britain as travelling Tank Banks. Wherever they appeared, crowds gathered to see them while people were encouraged to put their money into the national savings campaign.

After the war ended, the Government decided that hundreds of surplus tanks would be presented to towns and cities in recognition of the money raised by their communities.

Barrow was one of those towns.

This is an important part of the story.

Barrow did not receive the tank simply because Vickers was building submarines, warships and armaments, although the town’s industrial contribution to the war had been enormous.

The presentation tank was connected specifically with the war savings campaign.

Ordinary people in Barrow had put their own money towards Britain’s war effort, and the tank was presented to the town in recognition of that contribution.

Barrow now had a First World War tank of its own.

The question was where to put it.

Why Biggar Bank?

Today, if a town was given an historic tank, we would probably expect to find it outside a museum or protected behind barriers.

Biggar Bank was chosen for a much simpler reason.

People went there.

By the time the tank arrived, Biggar Bank was already one of the area’s best-known recreation grounds. The opening of Jubilee Bridge in 1908 had made Walney much easier to reach, and from 1911 electric trams carried passengers out towards Biggar Bank.

For families living among the heavy industry of Barrow, it offered somewhere very different.

They could leave the streets and works behind, cross to Walney and spend time in the open air. Children could play, families could walk along the shore and people could gather around the recreation ground and pavilion.

On a busy day, Biggar Bank could be full of life.

That made it an ideal home for a gift intended for the people of Barrow.

The tank was positioned at the north end of Biggar Bank and raised on a mound of large stones, facing west towards the sea.

It could hardly have been hidden.

Imagine arriving there around 1920.

The tram reaches Biggar Bank and families begin making their way towards the open ground. Children run ahead, coats move in the wind and the sea stretches away beyond the shore.

Then ahead of you sits this enormous machine.

A tank built for the First World War, now sitting on Walney Island.

People could walk right up to it. They could see the enormous tracks, the riveted armour and the sheer size of a machine that only a few years earlier had belonged on a battlefield.

And that is something worth remembering.

The First World War was not yet distant history.

For many of the adults standing beside the tank, it was something they had personally lived through.

Some of the men visiting Biggar Bank may have served overseas. Others had spent the war working inside Vickers, building submarines and warships or producing equipment needed by the armed forces.

Families across Barrow had lost sons, husbands, fathers and brothers.

When the tank first appeared, it was not an old curiosity.

It belonged to their generation.

As the years passed, however, its meaning slowly changed.

Children grew up seeing the tank on Biggar Bank. Families returned year after year. What must originally have been an extraordinary sight gradually became part of the familiar landscape of Walney.

For around two decades it remained there.

Then another war began.

Why We Lost It

In September 1939, Britain entered the Second World War.

Once again, Barrow became crucial to the country’s naval war effort.

The shipyard was needed for submarines and warships, and thousands of people in the town once again found their working lives shaped by the demands of war.

This time the old tank on Biggar Bank had a very different value.

It was made from tons of metal.

As the Second World War continued, scrap metal became important. Across Britain, old machinery and other unwanted metal objects were collected for the war effort.

The First World War tank on Biggar Bank was taken away and scrapped.

After roughly twenty years overlooking the Walney shore, it disappeared.

There is something remarkably fitting, and rather sad, about what happened to it.

The First World War had brought the tank to Barrow.

The Second World War took it away.

The people of Barrow had originally been given the machine in recognition of the money they had contributed towards one war. Barely a generation later, the country was fighting again, and the tank itself became material that could be put back into the national effort.

Today, it is difficult not to wonder what we would have had if it had survived.

An original First World War tank still standing on Biggar Bank would now be an extraordinary piece of Furness history. It would tell the story of Barrow’s wartime shipyard, the people who put their savings into the national campaign, the families who visited Biggar Bank and the two world wars that shaped the first half of the twentieth century.

But people living through the Second World War were not thinking about what might be preserved for visitors eighty years later.

Britain was at war.

Barrow was once again working for the Royal Navy.

Metal was needed.

And the tank went.

One War Gave It to Barrow. Another Took It Away.

That is what makes the story of the Biggar Bank tank so much more than an old photograph of an unusual object.

Barrow received it because its people had contributed to Britain’s national war savings campaign during the First World War.

It was placed on Biggar Bank because this was somewhere those people gathered, somewhere families visited and somewhere the tank could be seen rather than hidden away.

Then, when Britain found itself fighting another world war, the old machine was taken away for scrap.

Walk across Biggar Bank now and the tank has been gone for more than eighty years.

The trams have gone too, and the Walney of the early 1920s has changed beyond recognition.

But the photographs have kept one small part of it alive.

They allow us to look back to a time when families arriving at Biggar Bank were greeted by the unmistakable shape of a First World War tank sitting high above the shore.

A machine given to Barrow because of the efforts of its people.

Placed where those people could see it.

And eventually lost when their country needed its metal for war once again.

A special thank you to Cumbria Archives for kindly allowing me to use these photographs. Having the original images helps bring the story of Barrow’s lost tank back to life and allows us to see a remarkable piece of local history that has long since disappeared from Biggar Bank.

Sankey Family Photograph Collection — Image No. 7342

Sankey Family Photograph Collection — Image No. 7401

Images reproduced with the kind permission of Cumbria Archives.

I know I haven’t posted much for a while. There’s been a lot going on behind the scenes, and most days my head has been ...
21/08/2026

I know I haven’t posted much for a while. There’s been a lot going on behind the scenes, and most days my head has been buried in books, old records, newspaper cuttings and page after page of notes.

One of the biggest reasons I’ve been quiet is my health. I’ve been off work sick for quite a while with costochondritis, and at times the pain has been pretty relentless. The painkillers don’t seem to do a great deal for it, so there have been days when even sitting concentrating on something for long periods has felt like hard work.

Thankfully, I’m now getting myself ready to return to work part-time, building things back up gradually until I’m well enough to return properly. It’ll be good to get a bit of normality back again.

When the pain has allowed it, history has been a very good way of keeping my brain occupied.

One of the things keeping me busiest is a book I’m writing about the Furness Abbey Hotel, also known as the Abbey Tavern. What started as one bit of research has now turned into a book with around 20 chapters planned.

And strangely enough, the book really started because I couldn’t find the information I wanted.

I was trying to find out what actually happened to the hotel during the Second World War. There are plenty of local stories — one person says this happened, another says something completely different — but when you start asking, “Where did that come from? Is there a document? Is there a photograph? What is the reference?” things suddenly become very quiet.

I wanted something I could actually put my finger on: documents, photographs, official records, newspaper reports and proper references. Something solid that could be checked rather than another story being repeated because somebody heard it from somebody else years ago.

So far, locally, I’ve managed to find only two newspaper clippings, and despite all the searching, I still haven’t found a single photograph of the hotel during the Second World War.

That has probably been the most frustrating part. You can read lines of text describing events, names and places, but there’s something completely different about actually seeing the building as it stood at that moment in history. I keep hoping that somewhere there is an old photograph sitting forgotten in an album, envelope, archive box or family collection, just waiting for somebody to recognise what it is.

A lot of the records that might contain the answers are down in London, but that has opened another can of worms.

I’ve been quoted around £700 for copies of records, but they aren’t willing to tell me exactly what is contained in them beforehand. That makes it incredibly difficult to justify the cost. I could spend hundreds of pounds, open the copies and discover there is one useful sentence about the hotel buried amongst pages of material that has nothing to do with what I’m researching.

So instead, I’ve been following every trail I can find — one reference leading to another book, another name leading to another record, another tiny line of text sending me off in a completely different direction.

That is really how the book began.

I thought, if the information isn’t sitting together anywhere, why not try to piece it together properly myself? Not just repeat the stories, but follow the evidence, check the references and try to separate what we know from what has simply been repeated over the years.

At the same time, I’m still working my way through the huge collection of photographs for the Furness Whisper website.

The photographs are already catalogued, but I’m going through them one by one, writing the descriptions and digging into the history behind them. So far, I have written descriptions and researched the history for 7,114 images.

I’m currently working through the 8,000 series, with eight series left to do.

And I don’t want the website to be full of descriptions that simply say, “there’s a ship here, a building there and somebody standing in the foreground.”

You can already see that with your own eyes.

I want the descriptions to give you something extra.

If there’s a ship in the photograph, I’ll try to find out where it was built, what happened to it and what part it played in history. If there’s an old building tucked away in the background, I’ll see what I can uncover about it. Sometimes a name, a date or one tiny detail in the corner of an image is enough to send me disappearing down another rabbit hole.

That is the part I love.

You start with an old photograph and, a few hours later, you’ve got several books open, notes everywhere and you’re reading about something you had absolutely no intention of researching when you started.

Those little snippets of history are what I want to add to the collection — something that makes you stop on a photograph for a little longer and think, “I never knew that.”

The first 1–999 series is already live on the website, with plenty more to come as I keep working through them.

You can also sign up and log in. If you spot one of my mistakes, find something that needs correcting, know a little more about one of the photographs or have some extra history to add, you can submit your own correction or information — a little like Wikipedia, but centred around our own local history.

So although I’ve been quiet on here, I definitely haven’t been sitting doing nothing.

Between trying to get my health back on track, preparing to return to work, writing a book, chasing wartime records and working through thousands of historic photographs, my brain has been kept very busy.

And with 7,114 images written for so far, I’m slowly getting there — one photograph, one document and one little piece of Furness history at a time.

https://furness-whisper.uk/

It’s been a really good day down at Westshore, chatting with curious onlookers while putting Archie the rover through it...
18/04/2026

It’s been a really good day down at Westshore, chatting with curious onlookers while putting Archie the rover through its paces. If you’re now following our page after stopping for a chat—thank you, it was great meeting you!

Today’s been all about spotting the little design flaws before we send it off into tunnels and mines—definitely better to find them now than underground.

A couple of issues have shown up so far, mainly the WiFi signal not being quite strong enough. We’ve got a new WiFi component arriving tomorrow, along with an aerial, so hopefully that’ll sort the signal dropouts and keep Archie connected where it matters most.

https://furness-whisper.uk/timecapsule.php?id=tc_20260403150119_d23ff990&v=1775236320I have posted the first Time Capsul...
03/04/2026

https://furness-whisper.uk/timecapsule.php?id=tc_20260403150119_d23ff990&v=1775236320

I have posted the first Time Capsule about my grandad. Took me long enough to get it there.

Why I Built the Time Capsule – And Why It Matters

The Time Capsule wasn’t built to be just another feature on a website. It was built because most platforms don’t protect what you share. On places like Facebook, anyone can copy your image, save it, screenshot it, crop it, repost it, and it’s no longer yours. The meaning behind it gets stripped away, and there’s nothing you can really do about it.

That didn’t sit right with me, so I built the Time Capsule. It’s not just a place to upload something—it’s a place to keep it safe.

We’ve added things like watermarks and protections to make it harder for content to be copied or reused. Even if someone takes a screenshot, it will still have your watermark on it. Because if you’re going to share something that matters, it should stay yours.

The first story on there is mine—about my grandad. I’ll be sharing that alongside this so you can see exactly what this platform is for. No one else has signed up yet to add theirs. That’s what this is for.

If you’ve got a story—family history, memories, something that matters to you—this is where it should go. Not just posted. Protected. Yours.

If it means something to you—add your own.

My Grandad, My Hero: Too Young for War | My grandad, John Robert Fleming, talked about his past if you asked him. He was not the sort of man to sit people down and tell stories for the sake of it, but if you showed an interest, he would open up. And when he did... | Location: Barrow-in-Furness | Cop...

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