The Rushden Echo and Argus, 1st July 1955

No Parking, No Spitting, No Rubbish, No Cricket
We used to laugh at pre-war Germany, which bristled with signs saying that practically everything was “verboten,” but when you look round Rushden there’s so much verbal prohibition that “dry” America was free-and-easy by comparison.

Official and unofficial no-parking notices keep cars on the move like balls on a pintable until they roll thankfully into the new car park, and the M.O.H.’s signs tell you in half a dozen different ways not to spit.

You can’t wait, or cross this bridge with heavy locomotives, or cycle recklessly down that hill, or fail to submit your inquiry properly to the factory office, or put rubbish here, the signs admonish you.

There is even a choice specimen which tells you that you must not play cricket in this entry, but if boys are still boys budding Tysons take little notice of it.

Signs in Rushden are so numerous, in fact that if the town ever becomes a borough there will be no doubt of its civic motto. On a scroll below a shield showing a man spitting and a boy playing entry cricket will glow the words:

“Signum appone hic siplacet,” which may be freely translated as “Sign here please.”

Cross here – and you take your life in your hands
Anyone who tries to cross the A6 between Higham and Rushden during the lunch hour rush takes his life in his hands.

And when the road-crosser happens to be a small schoolchild venturing among the welter of traffic, only owners of the strongest nervous systems bear to watch.

Standing at the junction of Hayway and the A6 at noon any day from Monday to Friday, and you will not be surprised that Rushden has been declared a “red area” because of the frequency of accidents.

This is the peak danger period. One stream of cyclists is travelling from Rushden to Higham, while another proceeds in the opposite direction. All are hungrily homeward-bound for their midday meal, and all are in a hurry.

Too Narrow
At the same time heavy main road through and local traffic struggles to make its way between the two processions of cyclists. The main road is far to narrow to carry this volume of traffic in safety.

The traffic jumble is further complicated by schoolchildren on their way home for lunch who wish either to cross the main road or join the traffic stream on cycles.

Twelve o’clock is knocking-off time for most factories in Rushden and Higham, and the schools have their midday break at the same time, although some head teachers have put the time forward to 11.50 a.m. to give the children time to cross busy roads before the real rush begins.

A Solution?
A solution worth trying would be to stagger factory lunch-hours. This has been tried in other places with success.

If Higham factories stopped work at noon, for example, and Rushden factories at 12.15, one lot of traffic would be off the road before the second rush began. And if half Rushden stopped work at 12.15 and half at 12.30 traffic density would be further reduced.

But to be a success, the scheme would need the wholehearted co-operation of housewives.

It might mean that in any one family the meal-time would be spread over an hour and a half, with fathers, sons and daughters coming home from factories and school at “staggered” times thirty or forty minutes apart.

But it would be worth while if it cut the accident risk.

Incidentally, nobody can be found to take on the job of road patrolman to see the children safely across outside South End School.

Here’s a real road safety job that awaits a volunteer.