Mounts Stories

The Music of Belonging

Memories of Northampton's Creative Heart

Mark Ski glanced out over the rooftops of the Mounts, the Northampton neighbourhood he had called home since the early 1990s. There was a distant echo of a bassline, a faint reminder of the nights spent weaving music and memories into the very fabric of the streets. In those days, the Mounts was not just a place, it was the "epicentre" of something bright and uncontainable.

Back then, The Soundhaus, The Racehorse, and The Bradlaugh stood as a proud triangle of energy. These venues were magnets, drawing in all who hungered for music and artistic expression beyond the ordinary. The mainstream had no claim here. It was a realm where people passionate about music found a home, a stage, and, most importantly, a community. Mark could still recall the way the dancefloor pulsed with possibility, every beat a chance for someone new to step forward.

"Anything that wasn’t mainstream, and people were passionate about music, they would do it there," Mark liked to say. And it was true. He watched as artists, DJs, and promoters, himself included, tested new ideas in front of real audiences. The Mounts was fertile ground for grassroots creativity, each event a patchwork stitched together by do-it-yourself ambition and shared dreams.

But it was more than just the music. The Soundhaus, especially, became the anchor of Mark’s world. It was "more than just a venue", it was a meeting point, a place where strangers became collaborators, and collaborators became friends. "Most of the people I know, I met through music," he’d tell newcomers who marvelled at the closeness of the scene. "That’s what it’s about. Bringing people together, not dividing them."

There, among the tangle of cables and the thump of speakers, Mark made it his mission to open doors for others. He remembered stacking the line-ups with local DJs, giving first-timers their shot on stage. "We’d always stack it with local DJs, it wasn’t just the Ski show. It gave people their first gigs." He knew that with every opportunity extended, the Mounts grew richer, a place where creative potential was not just noticed but nurtured through mentorship and chance.

Of course, time moved on. The Soundhaus and other beloved venues eventually closed their doors, leaving behind a quiet ache, a sense of loss that hung in the air like the final note of a favourite song. Yet, Mark recognised the signs of regeneration. The Garibaldi, The Lab, The Black Prince, new venues, new faces, but the same fierce spirit. "The Garibaldi and The Lab are definitely part of that legacy, they’re where people earn their chops now," he’d say with a knowing smile. The Mounts, ever adaptable, continued to be a crucible for underground culture, surviving on resilience and memory.

Years later, as Mark wandered through the neighbourhood, he saw more than bricks and mortar. He saw a living, breathing heritage, where every memory, every collective cheer, every shared dance, had left a trace. To him, these stories mattered as much as any grand building or monument. "Everyone who went there, no matter what the event was, looks back on it fondly," he would insist. The Mounts was not just a place, but a tapestry woven from the lives of those who passed through it.

As the sun dipped below the rooftops, Mark felt a quiet pride knowing that the Mounts’ legacy endured, not only in venues and music but in the hearts and histories of its people. His story, and those of many others, became part of the area’s living archive, a celebration of creativity, connection, and change. In Northampton, the Mounts would always be more than a neighbourhood. It was, and would remain, a home for anyone seeking to belong.

My Life on Overstone Road

A childhood in the Mounts

Cathy Nicholas was born in 1954, in a small, terraced house on Overstone Road. The world she knew was shaped by the echo of factory whistles and the steady routine of the shoe trade. Her father, a skilled ‘clicker’ at Manfield’s, and her mother, who knew every step of shoemaking, were part of a community bound by pride in hard work.

When midday came, the sound of the factory whistle sent hundreds of workers into the streets. “It was like a meal break for the whole town,” Cathy remembered. The Mounts was alive with the shuffle of boots, laughter, and the bustle of its people, all sharing the same rhythm. Even the annual ‘factory fortnight’ when all production stopped for two weeks, became a festival of togetherness, families heading off for rare holidays or gathering in the parks, cherishing the break from the grind of daily labour.

Cathy’s Mounts was more than bricks and mortar; it was a network of neighbours who watched out for each other. Respect and care were woven into every day. When there was a death in the street, women collected for a funeral wreath and every house closed its curtains during the procession. On Sundays, families scrubbed their front steps and children played safely under the watchful eyes of the whole community. “We didn’t have much money,” Cathy said, “but we had respect and we looked after our own.” This was “the Mounts way”: an unspoken contract to take pride in their homes, their streets, and each other.

As Cathy grew older, the Mounts began to shift. The arrival of new housing and the construction of a “new road” changed the landscape, and the spirit, of the area. Streets like Lady’s Lane, once familiar and beloved, disappeared, replaced by modern developments that felt alien to long-term residents. “People weren’t happy when the new houses came, they said they were bringing all these London people in.” For Cathy and her neighbours, these changes brought loss and disorientation, as the close-knit world they knew slowly faded, replaced by something unfamiliar.

Through it all, Cathy’s sense of herself was anchored in the stories of her grandmother and her mother, Jesse McCready. Her mother’s wartime years were full of hope but also disappointment: “She was excited when the war came because she thought she might get away, but they told her she had to stay and make army boots.” The family’s tiny house, narrow and cold, was a symbol of resilience; every improvement made by hand, every hardship met with determination.

One particularly powerful memory stood out. During the Second World War, Canadian pilots were stationed nearby. Cathy’s mother recalled how polite and friendly the young airmen were, how they danced with local women at the Corn Exchange and brought a sense of excitement to the town. Yet tragedy struck when many of the pilots were killed in action. Cathy’s mother, deeply moved, volunteered to write letters to their families back in Canada, sharing stories and memories of their lost sons. “It broke her heart,” Cathy said, “they were just boys.” In this simple act, the Mounts’ sense of kindness and compassion reached across the world, bringing a fragment of solace to distant mothers in a time of grief.

The Mounts of Cathy’s childhood was not untouched by change. In the 1960s, West Indian families began arriving. At first, there was uncertainty among some older residents, but Cathy’s experience was positive. She babysat for the children of neighbours from the Caribbean, recalling with affection the warmth and generosity of the families who became part of their street. These first multicultural encounters, she realised later, were the beginnings of the Mounts’ journey to becoming one of Northampton’s most diverse communities. “They were probably the first Black people I’d met, and what a good introduction they were.”

Overstone Road in Cathy’s day was lined with corner shops, barbers, pubs like The Racehorse and The Bantam Cock, and the working men’s club. Every business had its own story, every family its own patch of local history. Time hasn’t always been kind to these places. “It looks a bit rundown now,” Cathy admitted, “but they’re trying to renovate the old factory on the corner… it does need some money spent on it.”

Through her stories, Cathy keeps alive the spirit of the Mounts, a place where heritage lives not just in buildings or street names but in the memories and values of ordinary people. Her tale is one of resilience, kindness, and community, echoing through the decades and reminding future generations of what it means to belong.

Cathy’s memories are a vital thread in the tapestry of the Mounts. Her life spans an era of immense change: from the solidarity of the shoe trade to the sadness of post-war decline, to the first stirrings of multicultural Britain. In her recollections, the Mounts is not just a place on the map, but a living testament to the strength and compassion of its people—past, present, and still to come.

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The Mounts in the 1850s

Between 1920-21, James Ward (1847-1925), a Northampton nonconformist, social campaigner and journalist wrote a series of six articles for the Northampton Daily Echo describing life growing up in the town in the 1850s and 60s.
This is an extract from Memories of Northampton circa 1856 in Miscellanea Edintone, 'a collection of items mostly on nonconformity and Northamptonshire'
https://edintone.com

Returning to the town, there were the houses we know as Primrose Hill as far as the old Catholic Cathedral, then gardens to Adelaide-terrace. On the other side the Freehold-street estate was developed by the Freehold Land and Building Society, then under the guidance of the late Alderman Joseph Gurney. I well remember the site of Langham Place being a garden. The Barracks were then occupied by cavalry or artillery, and over the gateway was hung an oil lamp — probably the last public oil lamp used in Northampton.
Turning up St. Lawrence Street, I well remember at the Bailiff Street end walking through growing corn. To the left we walked by fields and gardens to the Racecourse — not one house all the way.
On the Prison side of Bailiff Street was garden ground. From the Bailiff Street entrance to the Racecourse as far as the grandstand there was no promenade and not one house, only fields right through to the Kettering Road. On that main road there was a brickyard and about six houses known as Mount Pleasant, where Brockhall Parade and the chapel stand. No Kingsley Park! On that side of Kettering Road down to where the Primitive Methodist Chapel now stands there was not another building of any kind.

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When Colwyn Road was called The High Street

By Mary Pilkington - local history enthusiast with a passion for the history of Northampton (see "Old Maps" for more detail)

The land where High Street (Colwyn Road) was built was part of the Freehold Land Society’s Kettering Road no.2 estate. The land was purchased in the 1870s but house building really got underway in Colwyn Road in the 1880s. The strange dog leg shape of Colwyn Road stems from an old field boundary formed at the time of the 1778 enclosure awards.
There is a tall house which stands out in one part of the street which has the date 1875 on a plaque. It’s called Blake House. It still looks isolated in its part of the street on the 1884/5 ordinance survey map of this part of town.

The name High Street was in use by 1881 but in 1885 the name was changed because the owners of houses thought the name High Street was giving the impression that it was a busy business thoroughfare and that this was why they were having trouble renting out property there. They wanted a name which would suggest a more residential atmosphere.

There is coverage of a discussion during a council meeting in the local newspaper dated 11th April 1885 - see photograph of article below. Other names were considered as well as Colwyn, and these were Mostyn, Lonsdale and Tavistock. Two of the suggestions were places in Wales and this prompted a weak joke during the meeting that the owners of the houses there must be Welsh. My belief is that these were popular Victorian holiday destinations and that they were suggested to evoke a more restful atmosphere - Colwyn referring to Colwyn Bay and Mostyn which is close to Llandudno. Lord Mostyn did much to promote Llandudno as a destination.

Lonsdale must come from Kirkby Lonsdale, the gateway to the Lake District and another favoured destination of Victorians such as John Ruskin. Tavistock was another destination for the Victorians; it was considered a gateway to Dartmoor. But that name could also come from Lord John Russell (see also Great Russell Street). Lord John Russell was an important politician and the younger brother of the 7th Duke of Bedford. Russell is their family name. Tavistock is a place with historic links to the Dukes of Bedford and Lord John Russell was the MP for Tavistock. He was a very important figure, being the architect of the Great Reform Act of 1832, which amongst other things lowered the property-based voting qualification. He would have been considered a hero to the founders of the Freehold Land Society.
In any case Colwyn Road was chosen by mid 1885 although the street was known by both names for a time.

Great Russell Street

This was a very early ‘new street’ - late 1830s - and you’ll see it on the Wood and Law map of Northampton 1847. You will also notice empty land marked XP. That meant Extra-Parochial, and no Poor Rate was levied on the houses built there. Great Russell Street is too early to have been anything to do with the Freehold Land Society so would have been built by some local developer(s).