The Sutton Estate where Paddy Rochford lived and worked stands adjacent to a main road leading to the centre of Leeds; a road that grew busier and busier as the city developed in the 1960s and ’70s. As the years rolled by, and it became commonplace for families to drive their own cars, the road became an accident black spot, earning the nickname ‘the Mad Mile’. Fearful for the safety of his tenants, Paddy contacted the local authorities, requesting the installation of a pedestrian crossing. The council responded with a courteous reply, thanking Mr Rochford for expressing his concern and assuring him his comments had been duly noted. No action was taken, however, and Paddy devoted the best part of the next fifteen years chiselling away at the council’s thick red tape, in the hope of one day making York Road safe for pedestrians.
This was just one of the many ventures Paddy involved himself in during his spare time. To keep his mind off the horrors of army life, he tried to stay busy, and was always on the lookout for new challenges that would keep him occupied. However, it was during his spell in London when the ex-RSM began his most ambitious project of all: he decided to put his entire life story to paper. For years he’d been reliving his harrowing experiences and couldn’t escape the tormenting images of his past. He sought advice from an old military friend, who suggested that turning his hand to writing might prove a therapeutic way of getting the army days out of his system. Paddy duly signed up for a course on creative writing, and though he wasn’t a skilled typist, he invested in a typewriter in order to record his amazing adventures, one finger at a time. His words tumbled onto the pages with overwhelming enthusiasm, and his first draft, which began as a few scribbles on the backs of envelopes, soon turned into a tottering pile of inked paper. He continued writing long after his move up north, and his manuscript even made headline news in the Yorkshire Post, the reporter explaining how Paddy hoped to see his book in print one day.
Despite the decades spent sitting at his typewriter, he never finished telling his story. Joseph Patrick Rochford died of a coronary thrombosis on 1 May 1977, exactly one month after he’d retired from his role as superintendent of the Sutton Estate. He passed away just after learning the news that the council had finally approved the construction of a pelican crossing over York Road’s notorious Mad Mile.
Leeds, Yorkshire, circa 1960s: Paddy, who championed road safety during his retirement from the army.
Councillor Alan Pedley led the opening ceremony the following year, and together he and Marjorie took the inaugural steps over the crossing, as dozens of Paddy’s former tenants watched on, surrounded by reporters and photographers. It was marked by the unveiling of a plaque beside the busy road, and was eponymously named ‘Paddy’s Crossing’ to commemorate the untiring efforts of the late superintendent, making it the only crossing in the county to have an official title.
The Yorkshire Post, 1977: Paddy’s obituary in the local press.
The Yorkshire Post, 1978: a feature about the opening of Paddy’s Crossing, after many years of campaigning.
Phyllis, Paddy’s youngest sister, is the last surviving Rochford sibling. She still lives in the village of Chapelizod, just a short walk from the street where her parents, Joseph and Annie, began their lives together all those years ago. Their little house has long since been demolished and a shop now stands on the site of the old family home. Phyllis has six grown-up children, who now have children and grandchildren of their own. They still talk about their brave Uncle Joey, who used to enthrall them with stories about his adventures whenever he visited home.
Paddy’s son, Terry, went on to run a family business in Wakefield, West Yorkshire, selling paper-testing equipment. He still remembers his time in Egypt, and when his own son, Michael, was little, he filled his young mind with fantastical stories of his childhood in the East. Michael took a keen interest in his grandfather’s life, and developed a passion for his own family’s history, soon disproving Paddy’s grand theories of their Rochford ancestral origins. After much study he became a professional genealogist, prompting his grandmother, Marjorie, to gift him stashes of Paddy’s notes, letters and military related documents. She also gave him the unfinished manuscript, in the hope of one day seeing the story in print.
The Yorkshire Post, 1978: a photograph taken for the newspaper, showing Marjorie unveiling the York Road memorial.
It was only by a stroke of luck that the manuscript still survived, for it was stolen not long after Paddy’s death. Two youths from a nearby estate broke into Marjorie’s house, causing untold damage and making away with a whole host of items including photograph albums, bottles of whiskey, the family war medals and all of Paddy’s paperwork. Though the culprits were eventually caught and some items returned, the manuscript still hadn’t been found. Many of the photographs were never recovered, but some days later a policewoman spotted a cascade of typewriter paper floating down the local beck. It was Paddy’s story. She managed to fish the sheets out and dry them off before returning them to their rightful owner.
Marjorie passed away on a cold October morning in 2011, surrounded by her family. It was her eighty-eighth birthday. She’d lived a full and happy life, always cherishing the years she shared with Paddy; and it’s hoped that this book will prove a lasting legacy to the memory of them both.