READING recently in The Bolton News about concerns about giving live animals as prizes at fetes brought back some happy childhood memories.

I remember when the “Rag and Bone” man used to come round the street with his hand cart, shouting for old rags.

One time, I remember mithering my mother for some old clothes, which I took out to him, and he gave me a baby chicken, a little yellow fluffy bundle.

When my dad came home from work, he put it in a cardboard box on the fireplace with some straw in it.

The following day he took it to some nearby allotment, where they already had some hens.

Another time, when I was about 13 or 14, I got a part-time job looking after a darts stall on the Bolton fair.

Customers paid for three darts and if they scored over 21 they could have a goldfish, a coconut or a tortoise.

You can imagine, as soon as my pals heard about my job, they came running.

Surprisingly, they all won a goldfish.

There is one customer, in particular, that I remember very clearly.

This man who came to my stall was a little worse for drink.

He had a go at the darts game, but didn’t win.

He then started arguing so, to shut him up, I gave him a tortoise.

This man then staggered away with his prize tortoise tucked under his arm.

An hour or so later, he returned, even more worse for drink, and had another go.

This time I gave him a coconut.

He then played merry hell, saying he didn’t want it, he wanted another meat pie with the hard crust — I will let the readers decide whether or not that last bit is true.

N Bamford Thicketford Road Bolton