Shops

Bryant's Post Office with Mrs Robson, a Queen Motherish figure always dressed in a black two piece, dishing out pensions, stamps and postal orders from the aloof position behind her cage.

Duggie Bain's cobblers, the warm oily smell, my first football boots were bought there for 13/6d. The proprietor ever smiling, with his gold rimmed glasses, shiny bald head, gammy leg and leather apron, he could have been Pinnochio's dad Gepetto himself.

Harry Waggot's, as wide a range of foods as Morrisons, but served with courtesy, a smile and a joke for the kids. Next door was Peggy's wool shop, but a young lad would not be seen dead in there!

Gibsons, substitute Joyce and Mark for Gladys and Bill, treble the 'dying trade', but otherwise things are very much as they were, indeed, as they should be!

Finlay and Wilks, two pumps on the footpath, an endless barrel of paraffin, batteries, light bulbs, puncture repair kits and sticks. Just shows what can be achieved with hard work and enterprise.

The Fish Shop. When a fish and threepennorth went through the 1/- barrier it heralded the onset of inflation. Still, you could get a free poke of chips for a bundle of newspapers, and the Pepsi was the real thing!

Bell's Bakery, a true artist at work in his tin shed, out the back, creating a morning aroma that will never be reproduced. Like Duggie Bains, Jackie Bell seemed permanently attached to his pinny, whether making or selling his bread, ginger biscuits, vanilla slices and cream horns. There were of course thirteen of these items to the dozen. All these delights, however, paled into insignificance compared to the man's unique pasties. These were probably my first addiction, and by the age of 19 I was eating between 16 and 22 a week. (By then I was also besotted by the baker's daughter's tight sweaters, but then, weren't we all? But that's a different story.)

The Barbers. My main recollections were Jack's love of the Two Blues (the team, not the Pub), and the day boys haircuts went up from 6d to 9d. You can't buy a comb for that now.

Jessies. I suppose a slightly up market version of Peggy's, but if a little lad plucked up courage at Christmas he could probably find a nice present for Mam for around 2/11d.

Mary Jane's. The Newsagents, owned by a North Eastern, Woodbine smoking version of Granny Clampett. She sold everything from dolls eyes to buttons, most of which seemed to be kept in shoe boxes on her stairs.

The Store. Arkwrights but slightly bigger, and with a divi, and Harold Coles singing 'Abide with Me' while he sliced the bacon.