ARNOLD HARRISON, of Little Hulton, again recalls his childhood days in Bolton, this time writing about his father's garden shed . . .

ONE of my childhood memories of home was that we had a small garden in the back yard.

This had been created by the removal of two or three stone flags -- the only living occupant was a lilac tree, which would be about 10ft tall, and every year produced masses of sweet perfumed blossom.

Certain neighbours would be given a bunch cut by my mother and delicately arranged, which I would deliver. Sometimes I would be given a penny or a piece of cake, and on occasion a bunch of roses from their own garden to take back for mother.

One day, Dad announced that he was buying a motor cycle combination, and that he would have to build a shed to garage it. The shed would also be useful for his other hobbies and interests, and become a much needed workshop.

The sad news was that the garden would have to go, including the tree. Mother and I shed a few tears; how could something so beautiful be thrown away to die?

Dad, with my help, built his shed in the late 1930s. It occupied the space from the kitchen to the outside toilet by the back gate. It was an elaborate structure with double doors and two windows. A length of wooden guttering ran along the front, with a downspout at the end for disposing of rainwater.

The inside consisted of a wooden floor and a workbench, complete with a small vice at the kitchen wall end. At the other end by the outside toilet was where the coal was stored, leaving enough room in between for his motor cycle combination.

On the back wall of the shed was hung a large skin of "dri-ped oak" leather for the repairing of shoes. All his tools and his equipment sat on the bench in their allotted places.

There was a last for men's shoes and one for ladies', with various leather knives, rasps, tins of small brass nails and bobbins of waxed sewing thread. Under the bench was an old Singer sewing machine, which paid for itself time and time over.

The many shelves round the walls held an assortment of jam jars, treacle tins and tobacco tins, all filled with nuts and bolts, screws and washers and sagged under the weight of the many more tools stacked on them. I think most of them had been collected over the years from pawn brokers shops and retired tradesmen he knew, in some cases for the price of a few pints of beer.

He would spend most of his spare time repairing shoes, making and repairing belts, purses, glasses cases, and even repairing braces. Leather working was not his trade, he had developed his skills through trial and error -- and necessity.

In winter time I think I had the best sledge in the whole of Bolton. It was hand-crafted, designed and built by Dad. Its runners were aerodynamically shaped by his spoke shave, the seat and all cross pieces made from tongue and grooved timber, which was then wood-stained and finished with a coat of varnish.

I traversed the slopes of Deane Clough, Haslam Park and Pickie's Field with my faithful sledge, we were a team that searched endlessly for new and exciting thrills.

When we were in the deepest of winter, a primus stove would be lit in the shed and placed on the bench to provide a meagre amount of heat and light that was needed for his work to continue.

I remember waking up one cold and frosty Christmas morning, and after drawing back the blackout curtains the light shone on to the pale green stippled walls of my bedroom, and I saw my stocking hanging on the corner of the fireplace (no fire).

I emptied the stocking onto the bed, after straightening the woollen blanket and the various coats that had been put on to keep me warm. It was as usual, one apple, one orange and a small sack of gold chocolate money. My big present would be waiting for me downstairs.

Would it be a train set? - no chance!

Would it be a Meccano set? - same chance!

Would it be a second-hand, two wheel bicycle? - Now I really was affected by the cold.

I quickly dressed and hurried downstairs to find my mother busily preparing breakfast, after which I was given my big present. It was a large wooden fort comparable to Disney's Magic Castle of today.

The fort was detailed with several turrets, flag poles and a drawbridge. Small painted wooden blocks represented various internal buildings, and it was garrisoned with a full company of lead soldiers.

This was a masterpiece from Dad's shed. A creation produced with imagination and self pride, and as I compare the times with today, necessity really is "the mother of invention".