who now lives in the

Deep South of America

with his wife Susan

recalls his early years

in "Kew-Yed City". MY KIND OF TOWN 'If someone had said 20 years ago that Westhoughton would have a McDonalds he would have been carted off to a mental Institution.' IT is a far cry from Kew-Yed City where I spent most of my life to where I live now.

My new hometown is in the Deep South of the USA, the Carolinas in fact. Downtown Aiken, South Carolina, can hardly be twinned with Market Street, Westhoughton. The words chalk and cheese spring to mind.

Since I moved here three months ago I have receive a copy of Down Your Way from the folks back home which has prompted me to write this letter. I hope some of the more local "locals" can relate to and perhaps might just smile at a few of my early recollections of life in Westhoughton.

Westhoughton, like so many small towns 40 years ago, was a close-knit community with everyone knowing each other's business.

Neighbours

Word would be quickly passed around of a neighbour's illness, as would a marriage split (heaven forbid in those days).

Unlike today's hi-tech society of fast cars and fast food, everything was done by hand the old-fashioned way without the aid of email or fax machines.

If someone said Westhoughton would have had a McDonalds 20 years ago he would have been carted off to Winwick Mental Institution rather smartly.

1950's Westhoughton was a far cry from what it is today.

I remember the school playing field on Central Drive being bounded with the council tip on the North side. There was practically an uninterrupted view of Rivington Pike from anywhere in Kew-yed City.

The small path leading from Bolton Road to the Commercial Pub on Church Street was like a walk out in the country, passing through fields on either side.

Now, it's been replaced with housing developments. Similarly, the footpath from Dobb Brow to the Parish Church was like being a million miles from anywhere.

As small boys, we would play in an area on either side of the stream which ran from Bolton Road to Park Road and the start of Hall Lee Bank Park called "The Bonk".

Countless times I went home soaked to the skin after falling in the water. Going through the tunnel under Park Road and into Hall Lee Bank Park gave me a regular dousing from slipping on the slimy green brick sides.

The waterfall and iron bridge located just at the start of the park were especially spectacular after a heavy downpour of rain which would increase the flow of water tremendously. At that tender age the fast flowing water crashing over the rocks created a noise akin to Niagara Falls.

Community

I remember Hall Lee Bank Park as being more of a community park in those days unlike the neglected glen that it has turned into today. The park-keeper was someone to be feared. Woe-betide anyone caught riding a bike in there. The beds were full of flowers and I can recall an area of the park being used by the Council Parks department for their nursery.

About half way through on the left side just before the steps were greenhouses where bedding out plants would be grown for use in Westhoughton itself.

That area was the start of another "Bonk" that would lead towards Platt Lane ending near Bonnies Farm (sadly no longer there).

We would collect twigs and branches there that had fallen from the trees and made camp fires as though we were in the deepest jungle somewhere.

Playing at Tarzan, we would throw ropes over branches, swinging out over the stream. With each swing we would add another body to the rope like stacking dominoes until eventually the whole lot, branch and all, ended up falling into the water (I hope my mother is not reading this).

The park continued on towards an open area where there was a sandpit and paddling pool (I guess it was regarded safe to put your feet in stream water in those days of uncontaminated pastures). Sundays were the best days to visit as families from as far afield as Daisy Hill would arrive. We would roly-poly down the grass embankment making ourselves quite ill and, at the end of the day, trudge home with the sickness growing in our stomachs at the thought of school the next day. JUNIOR school wasn't that bad, most of my recollections being of playing in sand, messing with water, and attending the assembly every morning.

We would listen to the headmistress lecture about this and that and sing a hymn to the accompaniment of Mrs. Sanford on the light oak panelled upright piano.

I remember one particular morning in Mrs Sandford's class when we were having a maths lesson.

I found this particularly hard and didn't care much for it. So,

after asking to be excused to go to the toilet, I collected my coat from the cloakroom and wagged it, telling my mother that I was ill and had been sent home. Needless to say that prompted a visit to my home from Mrs. Sanford, the knock on the door sending me scurrying for the safety underneath my bed.

It is a pity that the values which we had at that age and the fear and respect (for the two go hand in hand) of our elders don't seem to exist today.

It astonished me to find that here in Aiken many of those same values we had years ago are still thriving. It amazed me even further to hear that people here will give their weekend to clean-up some part of the town for the benefit of others.

One weekend in the spring is set aside as Aiken's Rakin' - a time when the community turns out en masse to clean up the parkways for which this little town is so well-known.

I know that spirit still thrives in Westhoughton. What a joy it would be to see our park restored to its former glory.