Most magicians and illusionists take their secrets to the grave with them - to the relief of their contemporaries.

Not so Carlton, the Human Hairpin, who amazed Bradford audiences in the early years of this century. He was more forthcoming.

Carlton, a contemporary of the great Harry Houdini, was born Arthur Philps in 1881. He became a great favourite in pantomimes at the Theatre Royal, with card tricks and illusions; but his greatest fame came from his 'telepathy' act - an outdoor hunt for a hidden object, while blindfold.

He did the trick everywhere - it was a crowd-pleaser and a good free advert for the show he was in.

First he would ask for an object to be hidden somewhere in the city centre by someone who had never met him. Then, with a blindfold firmly applied, he would set off to find the treasure. His only stipulation was that the person who had hidden the object should walk behind him. If the 'guide' spotted Carlton taking a wrong turn, he was to stop.

On one occasion it was the silver badge of the chairman of the Bradford Cinderella Club. The magician set off with the badge's owner and, soon enough, arrived at the bottom of Great Horton Road on a piece of spare land.

Within minutes he had found the badge, to the applause of several thousand Bradford rubberneckers who had gathered to watch the show.

The bit of spare land was later to become the site of the Alhambra Theatre - another conjuring trick altogether.

Just before his death in 1942, Carlton revealed the secret of the trick - control of the facial muscles. He could ease the blindfold up imperceptibly without using his hands and then see the feet of the person walking behind him.

When they stopped, he would cast around, with a bit of showmanship, until they started to move again.

This act brought the trams to a halt in Leeds. As a result the authorities brought the act to a halt.

And in Halifax, Carlton was also thwarted - somebody got to the hiding place first and pinched the 'treasure'.

Carlton was no mug. When he appeared at the Palace Theatre in Bradford, he had what were called 'sharing terms' - he got 55 per cent of the week's takings, from which he paid the other artistes, keeping the remainder.

One week the theatre manager put on a boxing bout as a matinee. Carlton argued that this was part of the week's entertainment and he was entitled to his 55 per cent of the boxing gate.

The manager disagreed.

They decided to settle the matter in the ring. The manager would find the best fighter he could and Carlton would take him on. If he won he would get his 55 per cent.

Carlton couldn't lose - the bout would draw a full house.

The manager, a man called Harrison, found a likely lad called the Champion of the Meat Market; but he wasn't so champion in the ring.

Carlton refused to be knocked down and won on points. It was a bonus pay day...

Park Avenue's crowning glory!

Royal-watcher Judith Watkinson has been given a piece of velvet used at the Coronation of King George VI in 1937 and is wondering if it was made at Listers.

A bit of research on the T&A's part suggests not.

That's not to say that the city ignored the Coronation - it was, after all, celebrating its own 40th birthday as a city in that year.

And Bradford flew the flag in some style at Park Avenue during the annual sports meeting organised by the Bradford Schools Athletic Association, which was also celebrating its 40th birthday.

Around 1,200 students, wearing red, white and blue, formed a living union jack across the cricket ground.

It wasn't the only spectacle Park Avenue had seen that month. Yorkshire had just beaten Kent by 287 runs in a dramatic match in which Arthur Mitchell, the saturnine Baildon batsman, had figured largely.

He had hit 78 in 30 minutes, including a six on to the roof of the football stand seen here, to set Kent a target which was just too hard against what many still reckon was probably the finest county side ever seen.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.