Toilet in Clough was on edge of ravine

AS children, a large part of our outdoor life was spent in Deane Clough getting dirty, always wet and generally ruining our clothes.

If we had to pay a call of nature there was a gents' toilet situated by the side of the church on the very edge of the ravine.

Whoever designed and built it I do not know. it was common practice to use the toilet as quickly as possible and get out. Its precarious position conjured up visions of oneself ending up in the bottom of the Clough clutching a piece of paper.

A short distance away was a cave halfway up the side of the Clough, which we were told led into a tunnel which, in turn, ran all the way to the Town Hall in Bolton. As it was during the war, in case of invasion, our elders had an escape route.

One Saturday morning we all arrived at the Clough with an assortment of spades and garden implements to dig our way through the cave and find the tunnel.

This adventure was not long-lasting as we were chased away and told never to return.

A few years later, I was a member of the YMCA which lasted for a long happy time. Tuesday and Thursday nights physical training and gymnastics on Sunday nights. A slide show with lectures, a cup of tea, a game of snooker and home early for school the following day.

I also went on many annual holidays with the YMCA. One, in particular, to the Black Forest in Germany.

From leaving Bolton by coach, it took 35 hours to reach our destination. Crossing France, Switzerland and Germany by train -- an experience never to be forgotten. We stayed in a large house by the side of a lake which was run by the German Youth Hostel Association.

During the war, the occupant of the house was Martin Borman, who I think was the second in command to Adolph Hitler. This was Borman's headquarters.

During our stay, I was taken into the cellars of the house and shown two large metal doors which were the entrance to a tunnel. This was a large square structure, concrete lined with electric light fittings. A German staff car was parked there in readiness for quick departure in case of invasion. I believe the tunnel's exit was some 300 metres away in the surrounding hillside.

On reflection, of those early days, I cannot imagine a car appearing in the middle of Deane Clough with the Mayor of the day sitting in the back, robes flowing in the wind.

On another subject, in the early 40s one of my chores was to take our leftovers of food, scraps and peelings to the pig bins, which were a permanent feature on the corner of Glen Avenue and Greenhill Avenue. When you removed the lid the stench was very unpleasant to say the least, and in summer you would be surrounded by a swarm of flies. But the pigs used to eat it! After my mother got her meat ration from the butcher's on Deane Church Lane, I can still see my father cooking his own piece for his tea. He would poke the fire up until it was glowing red and grill it on the end of a long toasting fork. The blood would be dripping into the fire, and when he had finished it would be black and charred all round the edges, but nevertheless everything went down.

We never saw a chicken; that was something to dream about for the future. People who had chicken lived in Junction Road or Chorley New Road.

Some of the houses had a post in their garden with a brightly painted board on the top of it. This would change colour if there was mustard gas in the air and we would immediately put on our gas masks. As a family, we used to sit in the house with our gas masks on practising for any real event. In back Glen Avenue, we had two large air raid shelters, one at the top and the other at the bottom of the street, if only they could talk! There was also one in Lenora Street and one in Riley Avenue, which we used to frequent. My mum told me that posh people had Anderson Shelters in their own gardens. During these times there was a serious outbreak of Diptheria in the area, and I was one of the children rushed into Hulton Lane Fever Hospital. Later, when older, my mum told me that I had nearly died, but for the actions of Doctor Taylor who had his practice at Orient House, Wigan Road. She used to pay her doctor's bill at 6d (six pence) per week to a collector that came to the door.

Sometimes on Saturday or Sunday, with friends, we would walk from home down the Clough and up the side of the Middlebrook to the second bridge, up the steps, along Ladybridge Lane to Chorley New Road. We would cross the road and up Markland Hill to Doffcocker Lodge. After watching the fishermen for a short time, continue up Chorley Old Road to Bob Smithy and along Walker Fold Road to Walker Fold. We would follow the stream, through the valley and up on to the moor.

On arriving at Scotsman's Stump we would pause to read its history before continuing. We would finally reach the end of the Moor and rest on a bench overlooking Belmont Road and the Wrights Arms.

On the side of the hill was an army pillbox and gun emplacement. We used to search the hillside for any spent ammunition.

If you had any spent ammunition or a piece of shrapnel, that was 'street cred' of yesteryear. We would then wait outside the Wrights Arms for a bus to take us back into town, and eventually home to Deane.

Many miles of walking and a couple of sandwiches in a brown paper bag and a bottle of water. Now I need a tank of four-star.